Ashes to Ashes
by love-fool
Summary: To once be untouchable, perfect, and brave. In the aftermath of the shooting, Emma Nelson finds it hard to hold onto the fragments of her old self. Chapter twelve is up!
1. Always crashing in the same car

Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi: The Next Generation. I also do not own "Ashes to Ashes" by David Bowie which this fic is named after.

Warnings: Rated PG-13 for alcohol use, references to alcohol, language, mild sexuality, and thematic elements. This also contains major spoilers from Time Stands Still part two and Back in Black as well as a minor one from Neutron Dance.

A/N: I dub this my most random piece of fanfiction yet. This takes place in an alternate universe after Back in Black and contains one of the most bizarre and unconventional couplings I've ever thought of. I give much thanks to my good pal, Aubrey, for encouraging me to write this. Also if you're weary about controversial and unconventional relationships, feel free to press your back button at any time.

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There's that old saying about how there's always this light at the end of the tunnel. But where does that light come from? Is there someone at the end of the tunnel holding it all the time and waiting for you to get to the end of the tunnel? Is there a switch keeps the light on at the end of the tunnel? And what happens if the light flickers out and dies? But in essence, none of these questions really matter because it's only an optimistic saying that someone created so that you'll keep on going. And there are times like this where I honestly know why people call me paranoid and anal retentive. Or they did, anyway.

Over the summer, I went through my own metamorphosis similar to that of caterpillar to a monarch butterfly. My old morals and ideals were burned and only the ashes remained. The ashes weren't able to be rebuilt into the morals and ideals that I lived by. I was suddenly the epitome of everything I once loathed with a burning passion and protested. The fire burned quicker and roared as it ate up the pieces of Emma Nelson that everyone either treasured or was seriously annoyed with. What was left was an empty shell of a vapid and superficial girl who cared too much about whether some girl who was deemed nerdy by the student body went out with her ex-boyfriend. I was a drone and a soldier in the army of the masses known as the teenage girls. I was constantly a bitch to all of my peers as my holier than thou attitude caused them to coil back and ask themselves, "What ever happened to Emma Nelson?"

No one can answer that question. I can't even answer that question which makes matters worse considering the fact that I am Emma Nelson. But as I sit in a car that's the same color as that turtle I researched for a seventh grade project, I don't feel like Emma Nelson. There's no other explanation. I don't feel like the person I once was or even feel like I have the remnants of that person. I'm a stranger.

What doesn't help is the cloud of guilt draped way above my head, ready to rain depression down on me. I've always taken the world upon my shoulders and tried to balance it as I went through life. But that feeling was uplifting and invigorating. That feeling motivated me to do things to enrich the lives of others. But this feeling is another story. This feeling yearns to be pushed away so I don't acknowledge, but by doing that I plunge into another sea of pain. It's a lose-lose situation, something I tried never to get myself into. There was always that light at the end of the tunnel. There was always that hope or salvation waiting for you. But now it leaves without as so much as a goodbye. Then you realize that you'll have to fend for yourself and turn your own light on. Coming from someone who is supposed to be the symbol of independence that thought is really depressing. Because if you control your own fate, what happens when you mess up? So really, being independent isn't impossible because you always have to depend on someone.

That's the place where he comes into the picture with his charm and his maturity which was something that lacked in the boys I dated over the years. Sean's immaturity and selfishness caused for the storm that shattered our relationship to the core. However, he temporarily redeemed himself before leaving me when he shouldn't have. Again, another moment where Sean Cameron cares more about his own welfare than others. Not that I entirely blame him, the guilt after what happened with Rick must have been too much for him to deal with. I don't exactly condone running away from your problems but in a way, I completely understand. Maybe I can even relate. And then the Chris saga is one that I want to sweep under the rug once and for all. Even though he was the rebound, why couldn't I have picked a better one? He was just an overplayed hip hop song that lacked any substance. He was a visual aid in how exactly I was losing my mind during my revenge spree against Sean. Maybe he cared about me at some point, I really don't know. To put up with my revenge spree against Sean could show that. I could never read Chris though. He was a language I never understood or really took the time to try to understand. I guess that explains why our relationship fell flat on its face because we both took time apart to realize just how doomed it was in the first place.

However, the new and third addition on the list of my boyfriends is one that came spontaneously. He was just ended up sweeping up the mess of me and since that point I've been completely sold. There's no explanation needed which is good considering I don't really have a plausible one. He came with a slight warning and with those subtle flirtations of his that reeled you in on a metal hook. It's hard for anyone with functioning senses to not get intoxicated by him. I mean, even me, the so-called prude princess was drawn to him as he lectured about subliminal messaging in the media or whatever Archie had him teach us. At the time, Manny was giggling to Liberty about how he was just adorable and Liberty rolled her eyes saying how it was illegal and just plain wrong. I guess the ashes that were once my morals were swept away by a breeze and are completely unreachable by me.

This whole ordeal seems to be one huge game that I'm either going to win or lose. Those are the only two options that are set in front of me. Winning and losing is so black and white. Winning has to be the white considering white is optimistic and bright just like that buzzing light at the end of the tunnel. Losing has to be black because that's what color that horrid tunnel is. I don't care if I win or lose, I just don't want this game to end. It's the only fresh breath of sanity swirling around in my lungs right now. But if I lose that breath, I lose my sanity. Therefore, in essence, if it ends, I lose. While the game is still in progress, I'm winning but there's no trophy in my hands.

"So, tonight was fun," He sighs as we park in front of my house. He's fully aware of the consequences but it only fazes him to a minor degree. It's around midnight on the weekend. I managed to con my parents into thinking I went to a party with Manny. The ashes of honesty that was burnt to a crisp have blown away.

I smile only slightly, "Yeah, it was."

It was fun not having Snake and my mother breathing down my neck and asking me if I'm okay before going to pay attention to their non-screw up of a child. It was fun not having to have the images of Sean being drenched in Rick's blood as Rick lay cold and limp on the floor of the school. It was fun not having a care in the world as we did whatever which just ended up being a complete blur in my mind. It was nice to have an escape from my poor grades, demanding parents, and supposed friends. Refreshing and relaxing, even.

The sounds of Oasis that had been radiating from his car stereo are quieted now as he turns to me with that weak trademark smirk plastered on his face. There could be something important that he's about to say or he could be tired of listening to the same damn CD that he always does in his car. Maybe this car is my own personal oasis where I can just forget my troubles and woes for a while. My life lately has been one constant cycle of disaster and relief. If the relief wasn't there, I'd probably be dangling from the cliff of sanity about to lose grip and freefall at any given second. Or I could have possibly already done that. Now there are only uncertain shades of gray in that tunnel with no definite black or white colors in it. I hate the unknown. The unknown is so dismal and pessimistic. Is it so wrong that I want answers to every question that I have?

"I really need to figure out how to block phone numbers because if Charli calls one more time, I'm going to need to get a restraining order," He says with a slight laugh though I honestly can't see why that's funny. I probably lost my sense of humor along with my sanity; it was a two for one deal.

Of course he can't tell the psychotic ex-girlfriend what's really going on. I completely understand why. The consequences of such actions are imbedded into the wrinkles of my brain. This isn't one of those cliché lifetime movies where I'm the young and deluded girlfriend and he's the older boyfriend fulfilling my needs so I don't spill our secret to the world. Honestly, neither of us probably wants to go to the top of the highest hill and confess our whole world. However, I'm still unclear of his motives. I try swimming around his waters but everything around me is murky. The mystery of Matt Oleander is both intriguing and frustrating. Each look that crawls up his face or word that spills from his mouth just drives me down the road of confusion even more. I wonder if he enjoys baffling me to such a great extent.

"I wouldn't go that extreme," I chime. "I mean, you could possibly have something of hers." I'm breaking the biggest rule. I'm undermining his authority. I can't help it though; it's the only part of me I salvaged after the fire. And now I'm undermining his authority as we have a conversation about his ex.

He shrugs, "Eh, possibly. But knowing her she would have broken in by now." Again, he chuckles and the situation still does not have an ounce of hilarity. I smile politely as I tug on the sleeves of my denim jacket idly.

"Yeah, well, don't worry about it," I advise and continue to undermine his authority. He gazes at me with those dark brown eyes that could easily be mistaken as being black. His eyes are one big pupil with a loop of white surrounding the pupil, almost as if someone dropped a black olive into a container of sour cream. I'm too busy drowning in my thoughts to realize that his lips are now placed onto mine. He tastes like a successful escape and that can of beer he downed back at his apartment as we listened to The Beatles and watched some movie from the eighties. He shouldn't have even taken the liberty to drive me home. I should have called a cab but I didn't bring money for a cab. He didn't have money for a cab because his money was being washed away on rent and cheap beer. I shouldn't have told his land lady two weeks ago that I was his sister when she came up to his apartment and reminded him about the rent. I shouldn't be decorating the passenger seat of his car and taste his stale alcohol laced breath as Oasis plays at a dull roar. And I shouldn't be named Emma Nelson because Emma Nelson would never commit such sins. But as Sunday comes over Canada and his headlights bathe the once pitch black road in light, I realize that Emma Nelson is lost and whoever I might be is lost as well. So I'm lost and he's just this puzzle that I'll never be able to put together. And if someone were to find out about this whole ordeal and ask me about it, I wouldn't be able to string the words together to give a valid explanation. For once, I wouldn't have an answer and that honestly terrifies me.


	2. God knows I'm good

Monday mornings are the birth of a cycle of torture. The back of my mind screams how important it is to have an education if you want to mold your life into something worth living. However, as I'm half asleep and plastered in front of my locker attempting to look for my Media Immersion binder, I don't want a good education. I want to be underneath the sea of blankets in my room in a deep slumber. I want my denim jacket to no longer have the stench of cigarette smoke imbedded in its fibers. I smell like a bar because Matt has yet to give up his smoking habit. He claims that he's in the process of quitting that and drinking like a fish.

Of course that's going nowhere which Saturday night proved clearly. The shiny aluminum can seemed to be his date for the evening rather than me along with the cigarette nestled between his index and middle fingers. For a man who Manny thinks as being so dreamy and riddled with perfection, he's just so sullen and tired. How can someone be tired after living for only twenty three years? I'd hate to be the one to shove reality down his throat. Yet again, who am I to give reality checks about life to someone older than me? I'm slowly approaching the age of sixteen. I'm supposed to be naïve and carefree while being wrapped up in my own trivial worries. Somehow I feel as though there's an elderly woman trapped inside my body. Each wrinkle on her skin signifies an experience she's had to deal with. But there is no old woman hidden underneath my fifteen year old body. There's just someone I've never met before.

I'm in a hell hole where I smell like a tropical bar because of the body spray I used to give the bar a hiding place. I'm in a hell hole where Manny is giggling about ten feet away from me because Spinner Mason is being his idiot self and I suddenly don't exist in her world. I'm no longer the best friend. I'm just a classmate she occasionally greets in the hallway when she decides that I exist in her universe. My locker slams before I trudge into the classroom. Voices are buzzing around. For once, I'm not the first one here which lately has been my goal.

But in essence, I'm the first student who had set foot in the classroom. Two pairs of eyes land on the first arrival, as if I'm the only one who is enthusiastic and cares about the class and that's why I'm here earlier than the rest. I'm the prized and sacred one who should be thrust upon an altar of perfection for the entire world to see. Too bad I'm imperfect because of the other set of eyes and the other set is totally oblivious to it. I wonder what it's like for Mr. Oleander to have a conversation with his co-worker who is the step dad of his girlfriend. Snake probably places me on the altar of innocence and virtue when ever he starts going into the proud father mode. I can just envision the slow nodding and the one-sided awkward feelings floating in the air.

I acknowledge the two sets of eyes in the same way before taking my seat. The more I think about it, the more Snake doesn't really have the right to go into the proud father mode. Technically he's not my father. He's not my father biologically and he hasn't been there since day one. Since day one it's only been my mom and I. We never really needed anyone else. We were soldiers of our own army. We made our own rules. Then thirteen years into our perfected routine, he comes along and tears everything apart. I was no longer the main focus of my mother's attention. I know he cares about her and they love each other. But just because of that does it entitle me to automatically accept him as my father? It's been two years. I should probably just ooze acceptance and call him dad all of the time rather than just in moments of bitter sarcasm. But I can't will myself to do that. I can't allow myself to do that. He's still a foreign invader who has taken my house captive. It's a constant tug of war between acceptance and resentment that neither side has won as of now. In the end, I don't think either side can win.

"Hey Em," a voice next to me greets me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Manny in her "I just got done sucking face with Spinner Mason and his horrible emo hair so I'm really happy" mood. How is it possible that after last year how she just reformed herself into someone who was practically untouchable? Last year she was vulnerable to any guy who would give her the time of day because they thought she was easy. She was clay for their molding. And then she makes the ultimate mistake and manages to somehow redeem herself by dating JT for four tedious months. It's almost as if she knew that in order to be cleansed and invincible, she had to put up with being the girlfriend of JT Yorke for four months. After her period of cleansing was over, she cast him aside. He was now the trash of Manny Santos and she was free to go do whatever she damn well pleased. Now when she went after a guy who was taken, no one would blame her if the relationship between said guy and his girlfriend fell flat on its face. She had gone through the cycle of redemption. She's no longer the school slut. She's pure once again. So now everyone places the burden of blame for the demise of Spinner and Paige's relationship onto Spinner's shoulders. It's his fault. Manny's pure and the world loves her once again. I can't help but scratch my head in confusion over the matter.

"So, how was your weekend," She asks with a smile permanently etched on her face. Does she actually want the truth? Does she want to know how I spent my Saturday night with the resident Teacher's Assistant because I happened to be involved with him? Does she want me to confess every single sin I've ever committed? No, she doesn't because I'm probably still perfect and pure Emma in her large brown eyes. Manny Santos is in need of a reality check but I can't give it to her though I wish I could.

I shrug, "Nothing special, sat around and watched TV." Another lie from me, which seems to be something I've been churning out lately. The lies bury me in a web of them that just keeps going on into eternity. There's no end at the tunnel which means there is no white light.

The bell rings and signals the beginning of class as well as the end of an awkward conversation. Snake begins the class with the usual "I hope you had a good weekend" routine. Like Manny, he has no clue of what's going on. It's not like I want anyone to know mostly because they wouldn't begin to even understand. But I haven't even begun to understand which makes matters even more complicated. Simplicity is a foreign custom that will never be introduced back into my world.

I start to zone out while a discussion about java script unfolds. There's only so much of this that I can actually absorb without getting bored out of my mind so it's only natural that my focus goes from the teaching to the left side of the room. The left side of the room is smirking at me. My expression is blank but acknowledging as I try not to provoke any suspicion from anyone around the room. However that seems near impossible at the moment. Manny is doodling marriage vows between her and Spinner on the cover of her notebook in pink pen. Toby and Liberty are completely entranced by the lesson going on. JT is napping in his chair as slobber hangs out of his mouth. Memories of the five of us being this inseparable group back in the days of grade seven and eight flood me. Now we're off on our own missions. Manny is off making out with Spinner and discussing fashion with the student council president. Toby is off being an invisible loner that only pops up every once in a while. Liberty and JT are off enjoying a newfound relationship after a few years of bickering and secretly crushing on the other. Everyone has found their niche in the school environment. Apparently this is mine as I return the smile.

After Media Immersion, two more periods creep by before lunch rolls around. Mr. Armstrong babbles on about polynomials but to me it sounds like a garbled extraterrestrial language on some Science Fiction television show. After Math, History is a complete disaster. Ramblings about the French Revolution cause my mind to build up a barrier against what's attempting to be drilled into my mind. The days of my constant participating have had the door closed on them. As lunch rolls around, I momentarily miss the days once more of being a part of the fantastic five. Obviously the other four members don't return the feeling.

I don't feel hungry and I don't really feel like socializing with anyone in the cafeteria. Unfortunately, those are the two points of why lunch time in school was invented. The loud chatter permeating throughout the cafeteria isn't exactly inviting which is why I find myself with my headphones on my ears as I stroll outside of the school. A brisk March breeze pounds my skin as I hug my denim jacket closer to my body. I should probably have my heavier coat on which would serve as an armor to protect me from the harsh winds and the possibility of hypothermia. The school parking lot is dead and abandoned right about now. No one wants to eat lunch outside and have it blown away or turn into a human Popsicle. However there are the privileged few who have a car with a functioning heating system.

And of course I find myself knocking on the window that belongs to that same green Honda Civic I was in the passenger seat of. The knocking surprises him and causes him to nearly have an anxiety attack as he drops his cigarette that was keeping him company. The passenger seat window glides down as he glances at me, probably pissed off that I could have made him waste a perfectly good stick of cancer. I pluck my headphones from my head so now they're almost like a necklace.

"That was my last one," He says witheringly with irritation frosting his tone. "Aren't you supposed to be at lunch…inside of the school?" God, what a stupid question.

I sigh, "Yeah, but I really didn't want to be there." I take the liberty of unlocking the passenger seat door and I throw myself into the passenger seat. The bag of fast food resting on the dashboard helps him mourn the loss of his precious stick of cancer as he digs through it.

"Understandable," He says with a shrug. "I mean, I'd go insane if I had to deal with actually having a conversation with some of those kids." He pops a French fry also known as a stick of bad cholesterol into his mouth. "Fry?" He holds one out for me, tempting me with its greasy and salty shine. I shake my head to signify an affirmative no.

"Not hungry," I lean my head back. I'm sitting in an ashtray on wheels and soon I'll be an ashtray with arms, legs, and a head. The cold hard plastic of my headphones is clawing at my skin like it's an antelope carcass which is a sickening thought. Now I don't want to even be near food but it's lunchtime and that's what you're supposed to do at lunchtime. You're not supposed to be in the teacher assistant's car. You're supposed to be chatting with your friends about the latest gossip.

"I had the most painful conversation ever with Mr. Armstrong," He mutters through a blanket of fries his mouth is stuffed with. "He just started blabbing about…something." Obviously the painful conversation has already been erased from his memory. "It was like, Guess what? I don't give a shit." The blanket of fries has been swallowed before he groans.

I roll my eyes, "That's really nice of you."

"What do you expect? He teaches math," he reasons. "In my experience, I've practically hated all math teachers and people wanting to be math teachers." I start to intently focus on the music pulsing from his stereo as he continues to yammer on about his experiences at University. When you detach yourself significantly from a situation, you begin to see it in a new light. Unknown to the student body, I'm going out with a twenty three year old teacher's assistant who works with my step dad. And rather than having lunch with my friends, I sit here and listen to him complain. I guess I've found my new niche in the educational ecosystem.


	3. Because you're young

When I was younger and the words "first job" trickled through my ears, I always imagined myself being a zoo keeper at this zoo in downtown Toronto. I imagined myself feeding the animals and telling children about the animals as they looked on with fascinated eyes. However, my first job is not one where I wear a genuine smile and tell people an encyclopedia description of one of the pandas in the exhibit. Instead, I plaster on a smile so I don't get fired as I ask whether a person wants the movie they're asking about on video or DVD. I've never been a movie nut however when I applied for my job I was in desperate need of a distraction. It's common knowledge that practically anyone can organize movies by genre and by their title. Somehow I wound up working at the daytime shift at the Hollywood video on Ninth Avenue.

It's ten in the morning as I attempt to balance a stack of videos returned overnight cradled in my arms. My co-worker, Rosie, stares at me with glinted Kelly green eyes as she carelessly flips a strand of matted red hair over her shoulder and rings up someone's video purchases for the day. I can see fact that if I manage to get employee of the month, she'll rip me apart piece by piece because of her seniority over me. I honestly don't care about being the damn employee of the month. I just want my biweekly paycheck so I can refrain from bugging Archie and my mother for money. I just want to look like the responsible and perfect girl they've always perceived me as. I don't want them knowing it's possible for Emma Nelson to be anything but responsible and perfect. I don't want them knowing that right now Emma Nelson is anything but responsible and perfect. In fact, she's completely damaged and is fooling around with someone who could wind up being her younger brother's teacher someday. I return a video back in its home in the comedy section as I shake that disturbing thought out of my head. My purple shirt with the store name stitched meticulously on the front itches horribly.

If there's anyone in this world that's more messed up than I am, it's Matt Oleander. He's slowly unraveling and he doesn't know it because he's a complete alcoholic and chain smoker. Instead of realizing how messed up he is, he just covers up everything and plasters a slight smile on his face and pretends like everything is alright. He's incredibly reality challenged and the member of his own private universe. Even though I pretend that everything is just peachy keen. He probably doesn't even know how much he's become unraveled because he's constantly hiding behind an alcohol laced lie. At least I fully aware that I'm living in a world where everyone thinks I'm just oh so perfect and brave when in actuality that's far from the truth. I wish there I could navigate myself back to that world. Unfortunately, I lost my map that could have helped led me there.

I continue returning the various videos to their designated places on the various shelves decorating the store as I'm soaked by the bright fluorescent lights overhead. I want to leave this place. The walls aren't welcoming with the big glass windows covering them. As I peer out of the window, I want to escape. I just want to drop this stack of videos and scurry off to a place where no one thinks I'm perfect Emma Nelson and they know what a complete mess I am. But at times I can't help but relish people's delusion that I'm this strong and perfect girl. They make me out to be a super human. Don't they know I'm a person? Don't they know I have a breaking point just like everyone else? Obviously not or they would have noticed my breakdown. I guess in the end people only really care about themselves.

I hear the opening of the door over some Disney movie playing in the background that I've probably seen about a million times before. A set of footsteps taps gently across the carpeted floor as they become louder and louder which means they're tumbling closer to me.

"So, how's the working world treating you," I turn my head to the side and catch a whiff of a familiar scent. It's a combination of cigarette smoke and some cheap cologne that hangs in the air and follows him like a small child. I groan as I place yet another movie on the shelf and look back at him for a second.

I motion to the tower of videos nestled in my arms like a newborn baby, "How do you think it's treating me? My co-workers look like they want to murder me in cold blood and will probably do anything to get me fired. Other than that, it's just great." I roll my eyes as I continue to restock the videos. Out of the thousands of things I could possibly do with my weekend, I spend my Saturday and Sunday mornings and afternoons at a minimum wage job. I should be out doing something that doesn't involve bickering mothers and screaming children rummaging through the store to find their favorite Disney movie.

"So in other words, incredibly shitty," Matt smirks. He steps closer to me. I can practically see every stitch in his massively faded maroon sweater. I hope to god that my co-workers are too hung over from last night's oh so raging party to notice the scandal unfolding in the comedy and drama video aisle. "So, are we still on for tonight? I was thinking we could go see that new band, Fight Child. They're supposed to be Red Hot Chili Peppers meets Third Eye Blind. How about it?"

I shrug. I honestly have very little interest in seeing Matt get plastered and dancing drunkenly to some band that will never ever make it big. However, it's something to do. It's something that'll keep me occupied and possibly entertain me for a few hours. It's a distraction, something that I can hang onto for just a little while.

"Sure, I'm up for it," I smile sweetly as I lean against the shelf I'm supposed to be placing returned videos on. Obviously, work is the last thing on my mind. I'm too busy having a rather nice chat too be bothered with such a petty thing as work. I'm young and still in high school for crying out loud. As great as it is to learn responsibility at a young age, I need to have a carefree lifestyle for a bit. I'm supposed to have the glamorous life they drill into our brains in those cliché ridden teen flicks. I think I could deal with a mindless and materialistic life like that for about two minutes before wanting to strangle myself.

"Awesome, you'll love it," He attempts to reassure me. No, I won't love it unless I'm completely wasted like you. I'll have to take a taxi home so I don't risk getting in a drunk driving accident. I'll probably have the most horrid time in the world and want to gouge my eyes out with toothpicks. However, you'll somehow manipulate me into going to another show with you in a week or so with your intoxicating smirk and you managing to convince me that it won't suck. At times like these, I wish I wasn't a complete optimistic and that I had a shred of pessimism imbedded deep within myself. However, that's pretty unlikely considering I know that there's always that light at the end of the tunnel. I know that there's a possible silver lining to every single atrocious situation a person could wind up in. The downside with optimism is that there's always that possible sliver of disappointment draped over you. Maybe it'd be better if I was completely cynical and pessimistic.

"I bet I will," I say with very little conviction. "So, what time does the show start?"

He contemplates the starting time of the show for about a moment. How can someone so scatterbrained and forgetful expect that they'll make a good teacher someday? Does he not know that you have to be incredibly organized to be a teacher and not get involved with your students? Obviously not. And it's not like I'm completely innocent in the situation. Hell, I was the one who started to spin the whole web of lies I'm entangled in.

"Eight," He finally says after a moment of thought. "I'll pick you up at your place at around seven then." In the language Matt Oleander that means he'll pick me up at seven thirty because he got too into something else that distracted him from picking me up.

The door swings open as a chatter of three people permeates throughout the store. I know who they belong to. I know that I need to look as though I have a restraining order against the person who they call "Mr. Oleander" all of the time whether they're in school or out of school.

"Crap," I say to myself before glancing at him. "I'll be right back, duty calls." I scamper out of the comedy and drama section before heading towards the entrance to appear as though I'm perfect Emma Nelson doing her job as she should rather than spending quality time with her boyfriend. And now to serve my best friend, her village idiot of a boyfriend, and their friend and appear completely and utterly normal while doing so.

"Spin, we are not renting Wayne's World again," I hear Manny say with a long drawn out and frustrated sigh. "We've seen it about one hundred times."

"Let's go for one hundred and one then," Spinner suggests. "Please?" He seems more like her child right about now rather than her boyfriend. A sigh comes from Marco as he looks at Manny pleadingly.

"Manny, don't," He orders. "If I have to hear 'extreme close up' one more time then who knows what will happen."

I saunter up towards them as I play the overenthusiastic employee card of someone that needs to win employee of the month more than anything in the world. However, that's not me that wants to win that more than anything. Needless to say, I probably will due to the fact I come to work sober unlike the delinquents known as my co-workers. I plaster on a smile and look like I'm actually having a good time trying to recommend a movie that someone will like but will probably hate and never let me hear the end of it. Maybe I really am incredibly pessimistic deep down.

"Hey, do you guys need help finding something," I chirp pleasantly. Spinner seems fascinated with the candy near the front counter as he gallops off in that direction. I'm convinced that not even the world's most talented psychologist in the world could figure out the puzzle pieces that make up the stupidity known as Spinner Mason. However, Marco and Manny don't seem particularly fazed by his absence they tell me that they don't need help finding anything. Right now to them I'm probably just the annoying and overenthusiastic employee trying to get a raise.

Manny smiles softly as she gazes over towards her boyfriend with a serious sweet tooth as he furrows his eyebrow in concentration and attempts to decide what to buy. She rolls her eyes before grabbing her dark haired companion by the hand.

"C'mon, Marco, let's hit the new releases," She suggests before they go off to find a movie that doesn't involve carnage, naked women, exploding cars, or two grunged out teenagers who have their own television show in their basement. And now that everyone has a distraction, they can't possibly pay attention to me. I go off back to the drama and comedy section emerged from to attempt to help my supposed best friend. Obviously, that didn't go as well as I wanted it to. I didn't exactly expect it to go any differently. I've tried to breathe life into my friendship with Manny since we started growing apart in grade nine. Apparently, my half baked efforts at doing so weren't enough to keep it alive. We went down different paths. What did I expect? People grow apart all of the time in high school. Manny broke up two fairy tale relationships and managed to come out smelling like a rose. I do the right thing every second of my life and if I make one mistake there's a good chance I'll get penalized for it. Manny has an excuse for making mistakes while I don't.

"And duty hung up," I inform Matt who is reading the back cover of some movie with a faded front cover.

He gives a quasi-sympathetic look, "Err, sorry to hear that. I really need to get going. So, I'll see you tonight."

I nod slowly, "Yeah and I need to restock the rest of these videos before I get fired."

"Yo, Nelson," a voice coming from somewhere within the comedy and drama aisle greets me. I glance around and find the source of it which is none other than Spinner. Oh god, did he hear the conversation? Does he know? No, it's Spinner. He has an alarmingly short attention span for things that don't involve him. "Where did Del Rossi and Manny go?" I sigh, maybe of relief.

"New releases," I inform him as he stares for a moment before he trots off with his flock of seagulls haircut swaying as he goes off to find his girlfriend and the school president. Good, now he's away from the crime scene and probably still trying to convince Manny and Marco to get Wayne's World.

"I'll see you later," I inform Matt as he cocks an eyebrow at me while I continue to restock. He simply shrugs before grabbing the video he was reading the back cover of and sauntering towards the counter to get sexually harassed by Rosie and her enormous eyebrows. If I were to go temporarily insane and tell someone every detail about my life right now, there's a very minimal chance that they'll believe me. Emma Nelson is supposed to live in a world of order and organization that she helped to create. If I were to tell someone about this, they'd probably laugh in my face. Truth is if I wasn't Emma Nelson, I'd probably laugh too.


	4. Sister Midnight

I jam my key into the front door of the house, ready to crumble into a pile of dust before being blown away by a soft breeze. I never really have taken my job at Hollywood Video seriously at all. Before today I never really thought of it as a job that would leave me dripping in sweat after a hard day of work. However, if you factor in getting in at three in the morning last night along with screaming children and some obnoxious new employee, you want to keel over on the floor. I almost got mauled by a little girl who resembled a rabid raccoon more than a pigtailed brat just because we didn't have _Finding Nemo_. Thankfully her mother pulled her away as she kicked and screamed. I want desperately to get fired. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe I'd be better suited for Dunkin Donuts or some place where you don't have to know genres as if they're digits in your phone number.

Somehow I managed to open the door after the third try. For a minute, I was afraid that while I was out my mom had changed the locks. I step inside the heated house that's supposed to bring me security, warmth, and unity. However, I can't help but feel trapped within my own house. My mother and Archie are always breathing down my neck and asking me if I'm okay. They treat me as if I'm some news station that brings up to the minute updates rather than their daughter. I bring them the weather, entertainment reports, and good grades. They give me a place to live, food, and the occasional pat on the back. My house is a news station. God help me.

I walk into the kitchen which is a pit stop on the way to my room. The kitchen is laced with a challenge. It's the time of day where mom is making dinner and as I walk through the kitchen, she asks how my day was. The trick is for me to look incredibly well adjusted. When she gets around to asking how my day was, I'll tell her what she wants to hear. I'll leave out the part about the chronic nightmares that riddle me with insomnia. I'll leave out the part about how I didn't really sleep over Liberty's last night. I'll tell her what she wants to hear and today her world won't be destroyed. She'll sleep well at night. Snake will sleep well at night. And then the next day, the dice will be rolled once more and hopefully everything will stay in tact.

"Hey honey," She greets me as she cuts vegetables. Doesn't she realize that if she doesn't pay close enough attention to what she's doing that she could possibly lose a finger? "How's my working girl?"

I'm tired because I only got four hours sleep last night. Honestly, I'm hoping that you don't notice the smell of men's cologne and cigarette smoking that the shirt I wore last night is drenched in. I possibly have a large Geography assignment due tomorrow that hasn't met the light of day and is buried in one of my many binders. I want to tell you what exactly is going on behind the whole cause girl front but I'm risking possible disappointment and shame.

"Just a little tired," I lie. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. With some of the words I've been stringing together to form manicured lies, I could become a tabloid reporter. I could formulate rumors that have no basis of truth and then order people to somehow breathe truth into them. "It was a long day." For once, I let a nugget of truth slip out.

"Well, Manny called an hour ago," She informs me. Now she's the news station. She brings me updates on the family situation, if she and Archie are going out late tonight, if I need to clean my room, and other various things that are reported. "She wants you to make a stop at her house." I don't want to go over Manny's house. I want to be best friends with my comfortable bed and drown in my mattress. However, my pseudo-best friend doesn't want that. Either that or she wasn't informed about me sneaking in at three in the morning and my exhausting shift at work. However, it's time for me to slap on a smile and play the role of the supportive best friend. First, I need to make a trip to my closet and change out of my Hollywood Video shirt.

"I'll go over there after I change out of this," I reclaim my job at the Simpson-Nelson news station. "Could you hold dinner for me?" I plaster on that award winning Emma Nelson smile before trotting down to the cellar of doom. Once again, my mother is led to believe that I'm well adjusted and coping beautifully…the shooting. Of course, she doesn't know about the nightmares, the insomnia, the sneaking out, and Matt. She doesn't need to know. She needs to be someone who believes in me because frankly, I don't believe in myself anymore.

I peel off my thick cotton purple shirt and throw it onto the floor. Clearly, I've lost the sense of organization I had once upon a time ago. The quicker I change my shirt and throw my denim jacket over it, the quicker I go to Manny's, and the quicker I can make a break for it. I grab a random pink shirt from my closet and dress myself in it before running up the stairs to get my jacket and go to Manny's house and pretend that she's my best friend. I scurry out of my house and into the Sunday night dusk that's surrounding me.

When I was younger and Manny and I were attached at the hip, I remember my mom clutching my hand protectively as she walked me down the street to Manny's house. She always thought that I would wander off into the street and get hit by a car. Obviously now, I no longer need the help of my mother to walk me to Manny's house. However, I still managed to get hit by a car. Now I'm lying on the road and left to die and she doesn't even notice. She thinks I'm safe and at Manny's house. She thinks we're giving each other manicures and watching cheesy chick flicks. If only she knew that I was going to die and that no one would pull over and call a god damn ambulance to help me. Maybe then she'd see past the well fabricated lies and see me for what I really am, whatever that might be.

I play with the cuff of my denim jacket as I stroll down the sidewalk, progressively getting closer and closer to Manny's house. I've walked down this sidewalk probably hundreds of times during the course of my friendship with Manny. We used to be such close friends until ninth grade. She became the epitome of every high school age guy's desires and I was angered with her from afar. However, in the back of my mind I always wondered what it would be like. Of course at the time, I reeked of feminism and thought that I'd rather get thrown into a tank of sharks then be thought of as easy to the student body. I never really believed that curiosity killed that cat. Obviously, I'm not dead. Yet.

I walk up the familiar pathway leading to the Santos household. You know you've lost touch with your best friend completely when you can't even remember when the last time you went over there house was. Manny and I seem to be on different sides of the river lately so I'm not sure why she's attempting to swim across to my side. Why can't she accept the fact that we're two different people who drifted apart? She's the newly reformed girlfriend of Spinner Mason and is the goddess of the tenth grade. And me? Well, I have nothing better to do than to entertain my twenty three year old boyfriend and work at Hollywood Video. I'm nothing. I am absolutely nothing. Why is she wasting her time on me?

My finger presses the doorbell as I cross my arms against my chest and wait for someone to answer the door. I wonder if the Santos family has forgotten that I exist. Maybe I've fallen off the face of the universe. Or maybe I'm just being completely and utterly paranoid. That possibility could very well be right. However my thoughts turn to dust when the door swings open with Manny's mother standing in the door frame. She smiles at me. I'm the good influence on her daughter. I'm here to make her a better person. How could I possibly do that if I can't do it for myself?

"Emma," She greets me with a sticky sweet grin. The Santos family is filled with love, Christianity, and strictness behind the curtains. Manny's dad is notorious for ruling with an iron fist. I still can't even wrap my mind around how she managed to break free from her innocent front last year. "Manuela's up in her room. You haven't been over here in the longest time, how are you?"

How is it that I can't even answer the simplest question in the world? She's acting as though asking it is going to shatter me completely. Doesn't she know that lately I've been just many pieces floating around and trying to look kept together? Obviously not.

I smile sweetly, "I've been fine, Mrs. Santos, thanks for asking." She returns my smile which makes me want to scream. However, I meekly put a strand of hair behind my ear and watch as she says something about preparing dinner and goes off on her merry way. I scurry up the familiar stairway to Manny's room which is the second door on the right. Britney Spears is pouring from the crack at the bottom of the door. Does she notice anything outside of her room right now or has she been hypnotized by pop music? With Manny, the answer is no, so I take the liberty of cracking open her door.

My best friend has become a slave to pop music. She's dressed in something that would be found in Britney Spears' gym locker. Even though her hair is tied back in a ponytail, it flies like crows over a field at dusk. The atmosphere right now is what any true feminist would consider hell on Earth. Manny Santos is Satan. However, the sugary smile adorning her face tells me otherwise. Manny Santos is pure sugar. Her hair is licorice and her skin is toffee. I am not sugar. I have no flavor. I am the remnants of a once perfect daughter. I am nothing but ashes. I am death. The only way I feel remotely alive is when my ear is full of Matt's words. I tend to tune him out at times. Everything he says all just seems to melt together. It's bills this, potential teaching career that. Or it's nagging relatives this, I have a heavy workload that. Does he see me as some sort of miracle woman? I can't save the world, Matt. I can't help you sort out your life. Why are you wasting your time with me? There are plenty blonde sorority girls who would be allover you within a millisecond. You're jeopardizing your teaching career for someone who doesn't even know who the hell she is anymore.

The music stops blaring. There's no more Britney Spears. Where am I again? Oh, right. Now Manny's talking to me. Words spill out of her mouth and hit the floor. They shatter completely.

"Hello? Earth to Em," She says with impatience weighing down her voice. "I'm so glad you came over. I need help."

"Um, with what?"

What could Manny possibly want my help with? As of last year, I was useless in the area. She broke loose from needing me and flew the coop. And how does she expect me to help her? I'm not being helped. I'm just lying in the middle of an abandoned road bleeding. However, time to be the supportive best friend. She thinks everything is fine. Everything _is_ fine. It really is fine. I'm not diseased, I'm alive, and I'm not eating out of a garbage pail. So why does it feel like my world has crumbled completely?

She flops on her bed, obviously fatigued from dancing around her room and begins to work the puppy dog eyes before sighing. "For the talent show," She admits. "I want to sign up for it and do a routine and everything. I don't want it turn out like the fifth grade talent show where I fell while singing 'Candy'. It needs to be _perfect_. So that's why I want you to help me pick out a song for me, Em. Please? I'm totally spazzing."

I stand against the wall. I feel like a stranger in her room. "Sure, I'd love to," I force out. "Where's your CD collection, Santos?" It feels odd to sit on the bed next to Manny as she grabs a pink plastic box from underneath her bed. I'm invading a foreign country. Lately it's felt like the apocalypse has reared its head. The only survivors besides me are strangers that I have to manage to get along with in order for us to survive.

"Now you can see why I'm way in over my head," Manny says meekly. "I wanted to ask Paige but um, Paige kind of scares me sometimes." She laughs even though Paige Michalchuk isn't really something to laugh about. She's an intriguing yet evil person who will suck you into her world if she can. If you can't accept her world, she'll spit you out and that'll be the end of you.

I start to sift through her CDs which consist of bubblegum pop, dance, or some other equally upbeat genre. I'm surrounded by everything I've ever detested musically. Manny's strung out on Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Kylie Minogue, Mandy Moore, and Shakira. There's a glaring difference between my CD collection and Manny's. My CD player can contain Coldplay, Alanis Morissette, No Doubt, or Vanessa Carlton. But maybe there's a possibility that our music taste isn't the only area in which we're complete strangers. Manny changed. I changed. Everyone's changed and it all feels so foreign and out of place.

"Em, look what I found," She says as she holds a CD between her fingers. "It's your _Return to Saturn_ CD I borrowed from you in like, grade eight. I guess I never gave it back." And that's why I had to buy another copy of it, Manny.

"I love that CD so much. It's my favorite No Doubt one. I can't believe you lost it," I tell her. I remember tearing my room apart piece by piece trying to find it. The worst part was reassembling the wreckage that I made.

"I'm sorry, okay? Hurricane Manny tends to go through my room at like, any given moment," She explains. "We can't all be queens of organization and the world." Manny pauses for a moment before thankfully switching Britney Spears with No Doubt.

"This is…"

"The _best_ song on the CD," Manny finishes as she starts to create some sort of dance that looks like a mix between jazz and hip hop, if that's at all possible. "You and your museum of lovers," she sings as she continues to create her dance. She looks like she's having a complete blast. Fun. The closest thing I've had to fun lately is playing poker with Matt. To top it off, we bet with Pringles chips because he had to save up for his phone bill.

"The precious collection you've housed in your covers," I sing along with Manny. God knows I don't have a single musical bone in my body but I can't help myself. "…line?"

Manny laughs, "I have no clue. I know the chorus though!" Gwen Stefani continues to sing lyrics that Manny and I don't know at the moment. The last time I listened to this CD was the week before grade nine started. Now there's just the bubble of fun memories that went along with listening, dancing, and singing badly to No Doubt. I don't want it to be popped.

"Here comes the chorus, get ready, Manny," I laugh as the drumming starts to swell up.

"But I still love to wash in your old bathwater," We sing together to one of the posters on Manny's wall. I'm back in grade eight hanging out with Manny. It's probably somewhere between after she danced with Craig during the eighties dance while I cried over it but before I got back together with Sean. We're still innocent and best friends. We haven't drifted away from one another yet.

It seems like we're best friends once more but I wish we were still innocent.

---

A/N: Song that Manny and Emma sing and Emma ruins with her lack of musical talent is "Bathwater" by No Doubt. Don't own it.


	5. Friday on my mind

For a normal fifteen year old, you have so many options of what you can do on a Friday night. From parties to school dances, the sea of choices is endless. With life, you have so many options and choices that it's just incredibly horrifying. It's incredibly overwhelming that you have so many choices. However, once you make a choice, you're stuck with it and the path it leads you down. If you lose your way when you're going down the path, you've messed up big time. I don't want to lose. Losing is bad. I can't lose what I have right now because I've established it as normalcy at the moment. Normalcy is a drug. I need it. I need more. I need more of it.

So in order for normalcy to continue its reign tonight, I told my mom and Archie that I was going over Manny's house to watch movies with her, Liberty, and JT. They believed it. I can't see any reason why they wouldn't have done anything other wise. I've given them nothing but reasons to trust me over the years. If they found out where I was at the moment, they would never trust me ever again. I would no longer be perfect. News flash, I'm not perfect. I can't be perfect. I'm a human being. I'm a hypocrite and sometimes I get particularly ugly. However, you're completely blinded by the fact that I'm your daughter. I can do no wrong. Trust me, I am doing wrong and I won't be achieving sainthood anytime ever. Am I ashamed of what I'm doing? I…don't know.

"Boring, boring, crappy Lifetime TV movie," Matt reports as I flip through each channel on his television. There are so many damn channels and so many choices. We're bound to find something that flies right with him. His parents got him cable television for his birthday along with any special features that he wanted. Being the gentleman that he is, he decided to reap the benefits of his parents' generosity and get every special feature he could get his alcoholic fingers on. Also, they offered to pay for it for an entire year because they were just so proud of him. I wonder if mom and Snake took Deluded Parents 101 with Matt's parents. That would be beautifully ironic.

"Do you honestly think you're going to find something worth watching," I ask tiredly. "We've gone through like, two hundred channels."

He glances at me before he does his classic rolling of the eyes before smirking, "Oh ye of little faith, there's bound to be something on. And if not, then we're screwed." In the matter of two seconds, he goes from optimism to pessimism. I thought I was the only one with mood swings.

"That's comforting," I say dully, my words have rocks attached to them that drag them down. "I really don't want my cause of death to be absolute boredom, Matt." I grab a pillow from the clutches of the couch and smack him in the arm with it. There's this unwritten rule between us that we can shed our daytime roles when we're hanging out somewhere. It's really kind of nice, actually.

He laughs in a way that suggests I'm some sort of an imbecile. "Okay, now that was uncalled for, Nelson." He snatches the pillow that I used to smack him and prepares to hit me over the head with it. However, I am saved by the distraction of the perfect show or movie on the television. "See? I told you something good would be on. You need to have more faith in Digital Cable."

"How is that possible if I don't have faith in regular television nowadays," I inquire. "Everything is so…calculated and it's reality television galore." Maybe I just hate everything today but I'm not a hateful person.

Matt sighs, "But there are always reruns and good movies on sometimes." He's becoming enthralled with some movie involving two guys beating up the Easter bunny. I can't help but imagine to grown men beating up a real life bunny while saying, "This is for Brodie!" It's just a movie, Emma. It's just a movie. I bask in the glow of the digital cable and horrible apartment lighting. It's amazing how he's so into the movie and nothing else matters right now. He has blinders on that only allow me to see the movie. I'm not here. I'm on my own plane of existence and I'm so real that it hurts. I'm not this image or stereotype. I'm just me. I'm just the screwed up teacher dating anal retentive freak that I am.

And there he is, off on his own plane of existence as well. I sometimes wonder how exactly we got out of own words to enter the others. How is that people seem to make some sort of warped connection? In the end, we all appear to care only about our own well being. I didn't care that Liberty actually had some sort of romantic interest in Chris. I just honestly couldn't live with the fact that Liberty Van Zandt was about to get a date with a guy I tried so hard to pursue. We've always had a competition going on between the two of us since we met. Before the whole Chris incident, it mostly revolved around intelligence. She was the class brain and I was the teacher's pet. Normally, it's a two for one deal. Liberty could be both the teacher's pet and the class brain. I know I'm actually a really good student but Liberty always managed to pull the rug from under my feet. I positively hated it. I wanted everything to be my way. I wanted everything to be perfect for me. Now that cost me my friendship with Liberty. We barely talk to each other anymore. If we do, it involves small talk where the subjects range from class assignments to borrowing notes.

All of my friendships have seemed to go belly up. JT and Liberty don't talk to me. Toby doesn't talk to anyone. It hurts me to see Toby so alone and trying so hard to deal with the cards he was dealt. You can see the pain and the trauma forever etched in his face. He can't wipe that dirt off. On the other hand, I've concealed the dirt and slapped on a fake smile. People actually buy my masquerade and everything's back to normal. I'm perfect Emma Nelson. I'm going to save the planet. I can't stand it that people expect so much of me. I don't want to fail them. Yet, I want to. I want to fail them so they know that they can't expect so much from me. People don't change. I've never been perfect. Rick's always had so many problems and he dealt with them with violence. I wanted him to change. Underneath that ostracized exterior, he seemed like a beautiful person that people could easily accept. He wanted me to accept him. He wanted me to love him. He expected so much of me. I couldn't. He was just so tortured and ugly and I felt so bad for him. And voicing my opinion of that…

I guess I deserve the nightmares. I guess I deserve the feeling that lurks in the pit of my stomach when I walk down that hallway to get to my classes. I guess I deserve everything wrong and sordid that's been going on lately. I deserve all of the consequences at hand but I don't want to face them. If this does end, I want to come out of it clean. However, that seems suspiciously impossible.

"Hey, you okay," I hear a voice ask me. Where am I again? I smell a mixture of smells that can only be linked to Matt Oleander. I'm thrown out of my world and back into general reality. I glance at him with empty confused eyes as I nod slowly. "Don't ever go into politics, Emma, because you're the worst bull shitter ever." He smirks slightly. Can he read my thoughts? Does he want to read my thoughts?

"It's nothing," I insist. It's everything though. Maybe he'll listen as I unravel the truth. Maybe. "I had…a dream last night where…" My throat closes up. The words can't come out. Get out. Get out. Spill onto the floor. "It was the day of the shooting and…I was the only one there and I had NO ONE to protect me. I was the only one there. And then Rick…shot me and I woke up." I can't catch my breath. The images from my dream last night are rolling around in my head like tumbleweed across desert sand. Walk. See gun. Freeze. Scream. Bang. Black. "And then I just couldn't sleep after that so basically I've been up since like, three in the morning because I didn't WANT to go back to sleep."

The whole period from three am until my parents got up is one sleep deprived blur. I remember rearranging every god damn thing I could in my room. Every nook and cranny is currently organized to such a crystal clear extent. I was so ready to clean my closet and organize everything by color or apparel type or by both. However, my eyes landed upon the outfit I wore that day. Instead of the yellow paint that slightly stained it, I saw blood. I saw blood pouring from every stitch and thread. I wanted to scream. I wanted to bury myself alive. I wanted to run away. I just wanted everything to go away. I sat in the living room from five in the morning till about six watching reruns of Three's Company and got brainwashed by them. I wanted to live with Jack, Janet, and the other blonde. I want to live in a world where the biggest worry is whether or not my landlord finds out that Jack isn't really gay. I want to be clean. I want to be cleansed of every worry and woe I've ever had. I want to forget that day where everything fell apart completely.

"…Do you want to me to take you home or something," He asks, his voice drenched in hesitation. Stop walking on glass because you're going to cut up your feet. I'm not going to break because I've already been broken, Matt. He places a warm and comforting hand on my back. Don't cry, Emma. I try to make the tears freeze in my eyes. Brave. Strong. Perfect. Those words are so foreign to me and I have to learn them within five seconds before I break down and cry. No one is ever going to see me cry. I won't let them.

I shake my head slowly, "No, I'm fine." I smile without rainbows and chocolate. I smile the smile of an insane liar. He looks at me quizzically. He digested my words and my looks and threw them up as lies. He knows. He knows everything.

"I'm uh, sorry," He apologizes for nothing. "I mean, I'm sorry you had to go through all of that." His eyes glaze over with concern. Stop feeling sorry for me. Stop making like I'm going to shatter in your arms. I've already been shattered so there's no need to tip toe. "Sorry." After the apology evaporates, I find myself giving him a cold unfeeling kiss as a reward. Kissing Matt isn't something that I really enjoy completely. It almost feels calculated and required. I rant to him sometimes and he helps me escape my fortress of doom. In return, I listen to him rant a lot and let him kiss me. He's not prince charming. He didn't whisk me off my feet and we're not going to live happily ever after. If I honestly thought that; I would either be legally insane, brain dead, or on some heavy illegal substances. Every day I try to rationalize our…relationship and every day I get so frustrated and I give up. Maybe it isn't supposed to be rationalized. I have no clue and once again that honestly terrifies me. Even with the unknown, I still enjoy everything all the same.

I feel hands and violation smeared allover them. Don't touch me or you're going to have bloody hands. I'm shattered glass. I need to get swept up and thrown away before anyone gets hurt. Does he think I would sleep with him? Would I sleep with him? Stop it. Stop touching me. I nudge him away slightly and then the doorbell rings. My savior, whoever the hell they might be, has saved me from…something. Something unknown that terrifies me greatly.

"I better go get that," He says awkwardly but sadly but yet he's smiling before hopping off of the couch and goes off to answer the door. I touch my skin but it doesn't feel like its skin. It feels like mud or dirt or ashes beneath my fingers. I'm unclean and I'm staying this way forever. I peer over the top of the couch and watch Matt as he opens up the door.

"Lydia, um, nice to see you," He addresses the person at the door. "And you've brought along a friend?"

She groans, "I'm on babysitting duty tonight because I'm lame and have no social life. So, Alice from downstairs wanted me to watch her little bundle of joy." There's a pause. "Am I disturbing you or something? I just came here to get some Tupperware, not crash your hot date tonight, Matty."

Matt Oleander actually owns Tupperware? Why do I find that ridiculously hard to believe?

"Why the hell do you need Tupperware," He asks. He probably forgot that he had Tupperware in the first place.

She sighs, "I'm making guacamole dip for my friend, Dean. He bombed his Women's Studies exam and because I won't…well, we have virgin ears in the house, so let's just say guacamole dip is a great substitute to what he wants. Plus, I need something to entertain Darlene here."

"But I don't want to make guacamole dip," the little girl whines. Now would be a perfect time to kick into Emma Nelson mode and introduce myself. I pick myself up from the couch and waltz over to the meeting near the now closed door. Two pairs of eyes examine me quizzically as I walk over. One of the pairs dissects me with utmost precision and tries to see me for all that I am. What the hell am I anymore? I don't know. Someone please tell me who I am. The other pair looks at me innocently and curiously. I must look like some sort of Barbie doll minus the body that lacks proportion and the plastic coated skin. I'm blonde and young; therefore I must remind her of the Skipper doll.

Matt glances over, seemingly surprised that I came over. What did he honestly expect me to do? Did he expect me to hide like a kitten in the corner? What does he expect of me? He expects that I'm capable of doing yoga on Wednesdays and failing Media Immersion pop quizzes on Thursdays so I can get extra help after school from him. I smile that plastic Barbie smile. This is my Barbie dream house complete with an alcoholic Ken doll.

"Oh, uh, Lydia meet my friend, Emma," He spits out awkwardly. You forgot a word there, Matt. "Lydia is my next door neighbor who likes to come over and bug the hell out of me."

"Um, nice to meet you," I say unsurely. It's not nice to meet you. Get the hell out of my Barbie dream house and bring the Stacey doll with you. Lydia looks at me as if I have a third eye.

"Sorry to bother you, Matt, I didn't know you'd have a hot date tonight," She sneers. What did I ever do to her? I didn't even meet her until about a minute ago. People usually don't get annoyed with me until I've said at least ten words. "Darlene and I will go down and bother our lovely landlord, Miss Adams."

"But her cat scares me," the little blonde whines. Lydia waves to Matt before she firmly exits with the little girl. That had to be the oddest experience at Matt's apartment aside from the time where he dragged me down to Miss Adams' apartment because he got stuck cat sitting her annoying ball of orange fluff that hissed at me. Normally, animals tend to flock to me and love me. That was the first animal ever that hated my guts. Matt closes the door before laughing slightly.

"What's so funny," I ask.

"Nothing, just Lydia PMSing and dragging that poor kid down to Miss Adams' apartment," He laughs. It's not funny. That apartment looks like something straight from a disturbing horror movie. "Maybe Whiskers will scare the hell out of both of them."

"Whiskers reminds me of Garfield on steroids," I remind him of our cat sitting experience four Friday nights ago. "I thought he was going to viciously attack me."

He laughs once again, "You were scared of that thing? Whiskers is a senile cat who always runs into the dishwasher."

"It's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"You're not very endearing right now," I point out before elbowing him. If I ever did that to Sean, he probably would have attempted to murder me and probably would have succeeded. If I ever did that to Chris, I have no clue whatsoever about what he would have done to me. He probably would have told me to stop it in his monotone and exhausting voice. On the other hand, Matt says "Ow!" before looking like he's going to murder me but laughs because he's probably had a beer or two while I wasn't looking.

"And you're not very endearing right now after you elbowed me in the effing arm," He smirks before rolling his eyes, totally unfazed by the fact that I probably left a bruise on his arm. I go out on a totally immature limb and stick my tongue out at him before retreating back to the couch and looking for the remote. The rest of the night will probably consist of us continually channel surfing before we get bored and do god knows what. If I was spending the night at Manny's with JT and Liberty, I'd probably be forced to listen to JT and Liberty's saccharine coated baby talk while Manny forced us to watch a random chick flick packed with clichés left and right. I'm thinking that I was totally in the right when I decided to spend my Friday night here.


	6. Changes

There's always this comforting feeling when you wake up on a lazy Saturday in your own bed. You're just so oblivious to everything around you until you look at your bedside clock or your parents come and hassle you to get out of bed. I just wish I could be in that serene state of oblivion for the rest of my life. However, considering the fact that I can't handle the unknown, I always look over at the clock. Then everything is shattered and I realize that it's another day where I have to be so perfect and brave. There are so many moments where I'll feel the way I used to. But because it's only a moment, it disappears as fast as it floated across me.

However, that all ended when I glanced over at the clock and saw that it was ten o'clock in the morning and that there was no way in hell I'd be able to go to work which combined with the fact that Manny wanted to have a girls' day afternoon made me call in and lie saying that I was sick. For some reason, I felt so unclean when I called in and faked a stuffy nose. I mean, I'm spitting out lies as if I'm programmed to do so lately. I've never experienced feelings of guilt lately but when I called into my slacker boss known as Frank, they erupted inside of me like a volcano. Lava spewed and dripped allover. Soon, the lava would cool and harden before transforming into soot and ashes. Guilt has been a foreign feeling lately. If I've felt any piece of it, I've chucked it away so I wouldn't have to feel it ever again. I don't know why I've been feeling guilty. I mean, my lies haven't stabbed anyone or hurt anyone. The lies have just been for the sake of my own sanity. Is that so wrong to want sanity or some security?

Manny decided it would be a brilliant idea to drag Darcy O'Sullivan to our girls' day afternoon. She speaks some language that I've never been exposed to or have wanted to learn. Five bucks out of next week's paycheck says it's the mysterious language known as teenage girl. I've never been one for complete normalcy but I always held onto some shred of it and squeezed by. I never tried to be normal up until this school year. I thought of it as a new project like a protest against underage drinking or something of the sort. And like fifty percent of my projects, it blew up in my face. I'm anything but normal even though I pretend to be so. Everyone just happens to buy it because they're too wrapped up in their own drama to give a second glance and look closer. However, Manny and Darcy are way too enthralled with the cheerleading movie known as Bring it On to acknowledge the thought of my existence. They're too busy chattering about how the red head reminds them of Paige as I smile and laugh at the appropriate times. Friendship and socialization has become a routine. It has because a robotic routine of movements and words much like the thing I thought once upon a time ago was sexist.

"I cannot wait until we get our new uniforms," Darcy chimed excitedly as she dug into the bowl of snack mix sitting on the coffee table. "The old ones are so…" She trails off, searching her vocabulary for the most fitting word. "blah." Darcy O'Sullivan is one articulate teenage girl. Why did I let her into my house?

Manny laughs, "I know, we've had the same ones since I was in grade eight. And Paige claims she's the queen of fashion or whatever she's calling herself these days." The two share a giggle and it's clear that I don't exist in their world. I thought Manny and I were on our way of being on the same plane of existence. We've been having not so awkward conversations on the phone and have been hanging out in between classes. We've been mending the wounds that we've inflicted on each other over the years. I've read countless articles over the years that normal healthy relationships are supposed to have some conflict imbedded within them. However, there's a difference between conflict between Manny and I and the hurt we've inflicted on each other. Nonetheless, we have this understanding for the other that no one else in the world does. For that sole reason is why we stick around each other even after we've stabbed the other in the back multiple times. We have the potential to hurt the other in the most brutal ways.

"I still can't believe the Clovers won the tournament," Darcy says. "Gah, I always hate the ending to this movie."

Manny sighs, "But she gets get second place _and_ Cliff, Deedee." I suddenly feel like an outsider that was stuck together to work on a project together with two best friends. I try to adapt to their environment that they set up for themselves. I honestly wonder how Manny and Darcy got to be so attached to the hip. It seemed like for a while that I was making process in regaining my best friend. I was so close to having everything being normal with the exception of the skeleton lurking in the back of my closet. The credits roll on the television screen and I feel as though my attempts at normalcy have screeched to a halt.

"I am so nervous about Monday," Manny says to the both of us. What's Monday? Is there a newsletter I'm not subscribing to? "That's when they post the results to the talent show auditions." The talent show auditions were yesterday after school? Where exactly was I after school? I certainly wasn't playing the role of the supportive best friend.

"Sorry I couldn't make it," I apologize.

"Mimi, it's so certain you'll make the cut," Darcy reassures her with a wide and sugary smile. Darcy is chocolate, butterflies, and puppies. Manny loves her because she too is chocolate, butterflies, and puppies. Heaven knows what I am. However, I am certainly not chocolate, butterflies, and puppies. "I feel like going outside. Last one out's a rotten egg!" She gleefully jumps off the couch with her can of unopened orange soda in hand and scampers towards the door. Manny glances at me. Her eyes are heavy and make me anxious. She's trying to read me but I'm not written in her language.

"It's okay, Em," She half-smiles. "I almost fell, actually. I'm thinking it was a complete disaster." She laughs softly, trying to give the situation an ounce of hilarity. It's clearly not working. "Are you okay though? I tried to call you on your cell last night to invite you over but you had it off all night."

"I just wanted a Friday night to myself," I reply smoothly. If lying were an Olympic sport, I would take home the gold for Canada. Besides, Manny's too busy hanging out with _Deedee _to even give my lies a passing glance.

She eyes me skeptically, "But Em, you've wanted _a lot_ of Friday nights to yourself lately." Does she want me to say it? Does she honestly want me to confess everything? Does she want to break me into my most simple form? Does she want to reveal me for what I really am? A dirty imperfect liar. That's what I am. I'm not cause girl or green peace. I'm not that person anymore and I never will be. However, for some reason, I try to look as though I'm that person. It's all everyone knows about me and it should just shatter them if they knew me for what I really was.

"Well, we can't all be social butterflies, Manny," I reply bitterly. "I just want some time to myself away from all of the drama and everything. Am I not allowed to relax?"

She rolls her eyes, "Whatever. I was just concerned about nothing at all then. Just forget that I said that, Em, okay?" She paints a smile on her face and everything is sunshine in her world. "C'mon, it's a beautiful Saturday Afternoon and we are not going to spend it inside watching cheesy chick flicks." She removes herself from the couch and saunters outside as I grab my CD player and headphones resting on the coffee table to bring with me. I could probably blast so much music right now in this empty house. Mimi and DeeDee are outside doing god knows what, mom and Jack are out to lunch with Caitlin, and dad's working on something in the MI lab at school. However, Manny is right. It's a beautiful beginning of April day out there and it shouldn't be wasted.

I stroll outside and the sunlight hits me like a thousand painless punches as I make my way off of the porch. Manny and Darcy are imitating the cheers from the movie as I dress myself up in headphones and music. The jade hued grass rests comfortably underneath me as I tune out the world with the help of Joseph Arthur. Of course, I pretend to watch their little routine with oh so much interest. It's all a part of the routine. Look normal and right on the outside while feeling so wrong on the inside. It's a routine that I have perfected to the utmost extent.

I've never tried to be a stereotypical girl during the course of my life. Well, I did this year but that exploded right in my face. It's a lose lose situation. If I try to be myself, people treat me as some sort of an outsider. I was being punished for being myself. When I try to be whatever the weekly definition of normal is, my attempts fail completely. I'm trapped in this skin that I can't shed as hard as I may try. However, the rest of the female population is off being their own selves and reinventing themselves whenever they feel the urge to do so. They're chatting and gossiping and giggling while I'm stuck in a vortex of complete apathy and numbness. However, there is the occasional period of time where I do feel like I'm not a breathing robot. But apathy is my safety net. When I'm in that numb vortex, I can't feel any negative emotion that tries to take me hostage. However, happy people fear the apathetic kind. They feel as though they'll be sucked into the vortex that we're floating around in. In order not to be considered the plague, you paint on a smile and bullshit your way through every single second of the day.

Suddenly, I feel my headphones being ripped off. I'm sucked out of my vortex and back into my front yard. Manny's hovering over me along with Darcy as Darcy chatters rapidly about something unknown to me at the moment.

"Emma, do you know who is in your driveway right now," Manny demands urgently with a grin exploding onto her face. She and Darcy exchange cryptic looks that baffle me and I wonder why they're on the verge of manic giggles. It seems as though Jared Leto is in my driveway and there's going to be a red carpet rolled out on my lawn.

I sigh, "Okay, Manny, who is in my driveway?"

I realize that because Manny and Darcy are on the verge of heart attacks, that if I want to want to solve the mystery of who is in my driveway, I have to see for myself. Besides, I still have my independence and drive. Therefore, I would have found out who was in the driveway myself. I feel my jaw gradually drop down to the ground and my eyes widen. That car is not supposed to be in my driveway. That car is not supposed to be parked behind Snake's car. That slightly dingy green Honda is not supposed to be here. He is not supposed to be here. He is not supposed to be chatting happily with Snake and pretending like there isn't any amount of awkward feelings that he has right now. I can invade his apartment but he can't come into my house.

"Hi Mr. Oleander," Manny and Darcy chime simultaneously. "…Hi Mr. Simpson."

Dad laughs in a sort of weird way and probably appreciates the fact that I didn't go obsessive fan girl on Matt once he was within three feet of me. If only he knew the sole reason why, however, he can't.

"You guys didn't have a party and trash the house, right," Snake asks sarcastically yet hopefully. I'm the leader of the pack that includes myself, Mimi, and DeeDee. Therefore, that makes me their official spokesperson.

"Of course not, we just got bored of sitting around and watching movies," I reply sweetly and glance at Matt who is currently enthralled with the grass rather than the conversation at hand. He looks as though he's a puppy who just tore up the carpeting. "Um, I…uh…."

"Yeah, uh, shouldn't we get to work on those lesson plans," He finally speaks up. Snake and Matt suddenly get caught up in a conversation about lesson plans and shuffle inside of the house. I think we were both about to choke on the awkward tension coating the air. Manny and Darcy look like Jared Leto has walked on the same ground they have and breathed the same air as them.

"Are you guys even alive," I ask them.

Manny laughs, "Well, I am, anyway. I'm not sure about Darcy over here. Darcy? Hello? He's inside the house right now."

"I didn't think it was possible, but he is so much hotter than Adam Brody," She sighs wistfully. "And he teaches me about stuff five days a week. And…I don't know." A smile crawls up her face as Manny looks at her like she's a dog who was taught how to sit and did it successfully. Deedee needs a cookie, Manny. And on that note, I think I need a soda.

"I'll be right back, soda time," I inform them even though Darcy is still rambling on about Matt and basically giving a vocal presentation that compares and contrasts him to Adam Brody. I'm thinking Adam Brody is from that show with all of the ridiculously rich and self absorbed people who live in California. I think I'm glad that I don't watch a lot of television.

I crack open the door and unintentionally slam it behind me. The house seems almost dead besides the chattering coming from the kitchen involving media immersion and lesson plans. Footsteps interrupt the chatter and suddenly I'm face to face with Snake.

"Don't worry, I'm just getting a soda," I inform him so he doesn't think that Darcy cracked her head open on the pavement or some other catastrophe happened outside on the front lawn.

"I just want to say that I'm glad that you're having people like Manny and Darcy over," He says delicately so I don't break. I'm shattered, dad. I'm the glass that you're about to step on if you don't watch out. "I know it's been since November that…the shooting happened, but I wanted to make sure you're alright still. I mean, these things take a while to get over, Em. Honestly, are you okay?"

On one hand, I could tell the truth. Every sin I've committed could spill out of my mouth and cover him in disappointment that would last a lifetime. I would no longer be his perfect step daughter that he could brag about to anyone that would listen. However, on the other hand, I could keep my well adjusted image in tact and bury my skeleton deeper in the back of my closet.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," I reassure him. "I'm great. Its spring time, the birds are singing outside, I'm hanging out with my good friends. Why wouldn't I be okay?" Take the bait, Archie. Take it. I've hooked you with every single lie already, so why would this one be any different?

He gives in, "Yeah, you're right. But if you ever want to talk or anything, you know that you're mom and I are here." He pats me on the shoulder as he says something about something important for the lesson plan being upstairs and him needing to go up there to fetch it. I wander into the kitchen and grab a can of Sprite out of the fridge.

"How is it that you're able to lie like that," I hear an impressed voice. I whirl around and see Matt staring at me amused with that pretentious smirk on his face.

I roll my eyes, "And this comes from the guy who said quote I was the worst bullshitter in the world. Unquote."

That smirk stays on his face as he says, "Well, I bring out the truth in everyone. So, honestly, are you okay?"

"I honestly don't know anymore. I mean, there'll be days where I am but days where I'm not," I inform him. He's right. He's so right. He does manage to grab the truth out of people.

"Yeah, well, it's above that whole teenage angst crap, so it's almost required that you don't know," He shrugs simply.

I nod, "Yeah, it is." I take my soda and without a simple goodbye, I walk out of the kitchen. I hate how he constantly tries to get the truth out of me and is almost successful in getting the complete truth out of me. I hate how he seems to have an answer to everything, regardless to whether or not it's the truth. There are just so many vexing things about Matt and yet I've managed to stay around for three months. How I managed that, I don't know. How he's managed that, I don't know. How I've managed to keep a front of sanity, I don't know. I just don't know anything anymore and I'm not sure I want to know.


	7. Let's Dance

Morning announcements used to be a time where I would listen and watch eagerly and attentively to all of the notices being talked about. There were so many opportunities being broadcast across the screen that I was so intrigued about. That spark has burnt out. Now the morning announcements are a time where I can catch up on homework I didn't bother to finish or just zone out and not think of two weeks ago when Darcy and Manny reminded me of my place as an outsider. And that was in my own house, nonetheless. That had to be the most brutal diss towards anyone. A person's house is supposed to be a place filled with love and security, not one of hostility and reminders of where they fit into in the hierarchy of their school. I'm too out of place to even be a loner. I'm in my own dimension where everything is warped beyond comprehension. I don't feel real or human. I feel hollow like there's something inside of me that got ripped out by a hook. The worst part of it is that I was so damn oblivious to the whole ordeal. There are so many instances that I can think of that could be the time of when it happened but I can't pinpoint it.

"Tickets go on sale for the Grade ten semi-formal sponsored by the student council today during lunch," Liberty informs us as we try to fight the urge to doze off. Wait a minute, there's a dance going on? "Tickets are ten dollars for those who are flying solo and fifteen for those who are going with someone. You may bring someone from another grade as your date as long as they have their student ID with them. Remember that this is a semi-formal, so please remember to wear the proper attire. Please bring your ticket and your student ID to the door at eight on Friday night for a great time."

Great time? You absolutely have to be kidding me. Dances usually consist of people dancing awkwardly in outfits that they blew an enormous amount of money on that they would only wear one time. Usually, someone takes the liberty of spiking the punch so everyone can get intoxicated and wake up with a hangover the next day. All in all, dances are usually a humiliating experience and everyone wonders why in the world they wanted to go in the first place. And yet, everyone goes to the next one regardless. It's a vicious cycle they've locked us into so we can fund our school.

"Why such the sour face, Santos," JT leans across my desk like a prized ham on a dinner table. "Is it because that boyfriend of yours currently has the kissing disease?" He smirks at Manny while she rolls her eyes and continues to sulk. I try to pretend that I don't know that JT is the centerpiece of my desk.

"Mr. Yorke, will you please get off of Emma's desk," Miss Hatzilakos asks with a slightly stern tone lingering in her voice. I swear I had no clue that JT was on my desk. I was too enthused with the bland pattern painted across the ceiling tiles. Now the centerpiece has been stolen by a guest. Manny continues to look like a lemon drowning in her own citric acid.

"You know what, Yorke, you're lucky you have a girlfriend or you would have been paying someone for a date," Manny spits at him bitterly. They're on opposite sides of my desk. They're in trenches, manning the insults that they want to fly at the other. My desk is no man's land. No one dares to go across it or to get my involved. I'm hollow. I can't help.

Toby turns around in his chair and faces us. He reminds me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland sans the pipe. My whole life has been one distorted dream complete with enough twist and turns to fill several drug induced novels. Lately it's felt as though I'm no longer in existence. I'm merely floating above my body and watching it go through the motions with a piece of duct tape over my mouth. The switch on my mind and conscience has been switched to off. Emma Nelson is no longer in service. Instead she's being powered by an artificial source.

"Well, I happen to have a date so I'm officially off the market," Toby states with the same grin plastered across his face. This is not Toby Isaacs. Toby Isaacs has been more shattered than me. He's looked like a zombie walking down the hallway with a glowing neon sign hanging above his head that said "Save me". It had been no secret that Toby locked himself away for quite a while. No one had heard a word from him at all. The only way we found out tidbits of information about his life was through Snake and my mom. His step mom and dad had been sending him to see a psychologist to help put him back together. Now he's rebuilt and better than he was.

"Darcy said yes," Manny questions with curious eyes. "Good for you, Tobes!"

JT glances at him like he just won an Oscar, "Well, congratulations, man. You were able to woo Miss O'Sullivan." Toby attempts to look like it's no big deal. He's someone who woos girls on a daily basis. However, he stares down at his sneakers and resembles an apple right about now. The bell chirps through the school and that's our signal to get up and shuffle tiredly along to our first class of the day. We're all worker ants marching to our destination to get food from a picnic spot to feed the colony. We have to work together yet alone. Our ability to get through the day without falling apart is dependent on ourselves but is influenced by the other ants. It's hard to seal yourself off from the world while being a part of it.

It's off to gym class I go to play tennis outside in the chilly April morning air. Of course before I can play tennis, I must subject myself to the humiliating events of changing in the locker room. It's not that I actually let people's opinions of what I look like get to me. Okay, maybe sometimes I do. The locker room is one of the most unwelcoming places for girls laced with insecurities. It's a place where you can see other girls' oh so perfect bodies and compare them to yours while they compare theirs to someone else. The days of feminism and non-Spice Girls driven girl power are over for me. Honestly, being a teenage girl is one of the most grueling experiences of my life. I just want womanhood to be thrust upon me so I can stop having to deal with the almost cats I call the girl population of Degrassi Community School. I just feel out of place with them. I have since the beginning. When they were off saving money for a designer pair of jeans, I was off trying to save the environment. Now when they're being normal and hanging out at parties on Friday night, I'm watching crappy television with Matt. It's not like I want their brainless and social hierarchy driven lives but I feel like such a stranger in a world I'm supposed to be a part of. Is it good to not be a cookie cutter girl or should you strive to be pretty and perfect and normal? When you're in high school, the answer to that question is the latter. Contrary to various cliché teen movies, high school is probably the worst part of anyone's life despite their position on the social scale.

As I pull the combination lock off of my locker, Manny comes hurling in just as the late bell sounds throughout the school. I'm tying my shoes as she attempts to open up her locker and somehow manage to get changed in five minutes so she won't be counted as tardy. It's amazing how she's been there for about a minute and my presence isn't really noted. Maybe we only really do care about our own well being in the end. I mean, when you think about it that way, it seems as though everything I fought for is completely and utterly pointless. If we only care about ourselves in the end, then why do we strive to attempt to help others with various organizations? If our own well being is our only concern, then what the hell is the point of helping other people?

I finally tie my shoe and am ready to go out and line up with the others in my gym class. However, for some reason or another, I'm compelled to wait for Manny. It's what best friends do and as the role of her pseudo-best friend, I wait for her and risk a possible tardy on my record.

"Manny, hon, please tell me you don't already have a tennis partner," a vexing familiar voice rings out next to me. I turn my head and see Paige in her oh so glamorous gym style. It seems as though she broke loose from the athletic section of a catalog complete with a hair and make-up job fit for a model. Lucky for me, Manny knows the unwritten law that your best friend is automatically your tennis partner. "I would totally appreciate it since you're probably the only one in this entire class that can hit a ball with a tennis racket."

"Oh, sure, Paige," Manny says politely. Paige is a witch who cast a spell upon Manny. Now in Manny's world, I'm just another face she passes in the hallway when Spinner's arm is around her waist and Marco and her are having a grand old time chatting. Paige skips off towards the door that leads to the gym. Manny takes out her hoop earrings and then finally decides it's a grand ole time to acknowledge my presence only about a foot away from her.

"So, Paige is your tennis partner, that's…great," I roll my eyes. "Just make sure she doesn't break a nail or she'll go nuclear."

She returns the eye rolling, "You still act like Paige has the depth of a kiddie pool. She's actually kind of cool when you get to know her." Oh, so that's why you and Darcy talk and snicker behind her back like there's no tomorrow? I nod in some sort of agreement as we end up walking to the gym together yet not together. We acknowledge each other's presence yet we act like the other is a stranger.

The bright lights of the gym shine down on us as chatter fills my ears. Everyone seems to be partnered up with tennis rackets and balls as they chat away with their partners. I feel like a fish that's lost its school and is swimming through the warm ocean waters on my own. Mr. Armstrong marks our presence down in the grade book a we saunter into the gym. I look around and see that almost everyone has a partner. I can't go on Noah's Ark because I don't have my partner and we're supposed to go two by two. JT and Danny Van Zandt are currently assaulting each other with their tennis rackets. Ashley Kerwin and Heather Sinclair are chatting away happily as Paige and Manny glance over at them in anger. And the loitering duo known as Sully and Alex are laughing at something that is quite unknown to me at the moment.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, "Hey uh, it seems as though you're in need of a partner." I twirl around and am faced with the guy who sits in back of me in History. He brushes a chunk of golden messy hair out of his face and sticks his hands into the depths of his black gym shorts. "I'm Nate, by the way. I think I sit behind you in fourth period history."

"Uh huh," I vaguely nod. "Sure, uh, I'll be partners with you."

He smiles softly, "Great! Hey, don't you work at Hollywood Video on the weekend?" We walk together to the equipment stranded in the middle of the gymnasium as Manny sort of eyes me oddly. We wrangle up our tennis rackets and balls and just kind of stand there, awkwardly. I've never really had a conversation with Nate practically ever unless it involved me asking if he had his homework or something of the nature of History Class.

"Yeah, I do," I answer his question. "I have the day shift on weekends." He nods as Mr. Armstrong tells us that we're now going outside to the tennis courts located before the football field. We resemble ants going back to the anthill with food in tow. Nate and I walk in awkward silence as everyone around us chats lively. We're the pair of socks that got thrown together randomly in the morning rush. It doesn't matter which ones you're wearing because you're going to be wearing shoes over them. You're only going to be wearing the mismatched socks for one day out of your entire life, so you deal with them and don't whine.

"So uh, are you any good at tennis," He asks casually while tossing the ball continuously in the air. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. It crashes to the soft freshly mowed grass before stuffing it into his pocket.

"Not really," I answer with a shrug as we claim a tennis court sandwiched between the one claimed by JT and Danny and the one claimed by Manny and Paige. Manny glances over in my direction with a slight smirk. I can see the wheels turning in her head. Any guy that talks to me who isn't JT, Danny, or Toby is automatically boyfriend material for me. This includes any guy I hate, anyone I haven't spoken to ever, or someone I've only spoken a few words to in the course of my entire life.

"Quick question," He shouts from his position on the opposing side of the court. "You going to that dance on Friday night? I'm not asking like, a date or anything. I'm just seeing who is going, you know, voluntarily or whatever." The ball bounces on his side of the court. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. And now it's being cradled in his hand.

"Probably not," I say. I don't want to go the dance. I don't want to do anything on Friday night. Hell, I don't really want to see Matt on Friday night. I want to kick my parents and my brother out on Friday night and just bathe in the lonely Friday night that is all mine and no one else's. "Why do you have to go?"

"Well, because yearbook club is a fascist cult and not like, a freaking school club or anything, I'm forced to take pictures for the yearbook there," He answers with a groan. "I'm not really a dance kind of person but eh, it's part of the job." Out of nowhere, the ball comes hurling towards me and naturally, I completely miss the thing. It bounces off the wire fence and rolls onto the smooth pavement right back at my feet as Nate has the nerve to laugh at me.

He continues to laugh, "That was smooth. Really smooth." Manny comes sauntering over as she hikes up her gym shorts and fixes her top as she flashes Nate a cheesy smile. Her tennis partner is now currently belittling Heather Sinclair as Coach Armstrong attempts to teach Sully how to hit a tennis ball without potentially killing anyone. Needless to say, first period gym class outside at the tennis courts has become a social free for all. Well, for everyone but my taunting tennis partner. He's kind of glancing at me for one reason or another. It's probably because the tennis ball is on my side of the court and he's wanting to toss it around or whatever, but he's obviously too lazy to get it.

"Is it true that you're not going to the dance," Manny interrogates me. "God, Emma, it's going to be so much fun. We can totally rock the whole girl power thing because we're probably like, the only ones that I know without dates." Well, that's because that boyfriend of yours is currently infected with mononucleosis and I can't exactly ask Matt to a dance he'd probably be chaperoning.

"I don't have a dress," I say. That is my excuse? Why couldn't I say that I had a rare disease that could possibly kill me if I went to a music filled gym on a weekend night? No, my excuse is that I don't have a dress. I've been the queen of excuses and lies lately. I'm so disappointed in myself right now.

She smirks, "Well, that's why we go out and buy one, Em. And we can go to the food court afterwards and get one of those tropical smoothies you like." Those smoothies are my Achilles heel. Why must she find my weakness in the mall? I have the money for a decent dress, so it wouldn't exactly kill me to go the dance. "Plus, I need some sanity there. Darcy's going nuts because Mr. O going to be a chaperone there."

"We're going to the mall after school and you're going to help me pick out my dress," I spit out robotically. "I mean, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," She grins. "This is going to be so much fun!" She lets out a giggle before suffocating me in a hug. I feel like the prey of an Octopus even though I can't quite remember right now what they eat. Coach Armstrong is done with his lesson in how to properly hit a tennis ball, so Manny lets me be able to breathe and scampers back over to her tennis court. Nate looks like he's stranded in the middle of the ocean and doesn't know how to get back to dry land. However, he snaps out of his trance and is armed with a tennis racket and ready to defend himself from my horrible tennis skills.

"So, apparently now I'm going to the dance," I inform him as I throw the tennis ball up in the air and somehow manage to have it actually sail over the net. The ball flies over Nate's head like a speeding bullet before dropping about three feet behind him.

He nods, "Oh, sounds cool. I'll see you there then."

I'm going shopping with Manny for a dress that I'm only going to wear once to a dance where Darcy's going to be swooning over the guy I'm kind of going out with behind everyone's backs while she snubs her date. Chances are, my dad is probably a chaperone so making a get away with a certain someone will be mission impossible. I'll be stuck in a room with dancing and possibly drunken hormonal teenagers for two hours.

What have I gotten myself into?


	8. Dancing in the Streets

My life lately has seemed like watching one movie for the rest of my life. I sit in front of the television and watch the colors on the people and places on the television screen but I'm totally not involved in the action. Everything's just floating around me and I'm just watching it roll on past me because I have nothing better to do. I can't find the remote so the movie never stops. It's just these continuous patches of colors that float on by me. I can't prevent what happens because it just happens without my consent. I absolutely hate it. Control is a dead language that will never be taught in a school like Latin or Greek. It's just going to this hidden mystery that I want to figure out but can't. You can't control your life when there are obviously other people out there who are going to somehow impact your life. The only way you can have completely control over every aspect of your life is to move to the Yukon and live in a shack in the woods. That's the only way you can have total control. Besides, you can still fake having control. My life lately has been one synthetic lie after another after another.

If there was a teacher assistant dating and pseudo-crusader Barbie doll, I would be dressed in her formal outfit right about now. My hair is adorned in curls and my face is painted with make up. I don't look like Emma Nelson yet I don't look like who I am. I look like Marilyn Monroe if she had to go to a tea party in Alabama. My dress is white. White is the color of innocence and virtue, something that I used to possess once upon a time ago when I was a head strong princess who fought off evil dragons while Prince Charming wasn't billed first. Wearing a white dress is just so ironic. White also represents weddings and happiness. Well, I'm not just wearing a white dress. I'm wearing an ironic white dress. How's that for a nail polish color?

Manny sits in the passenger seat of Marco Del Rossi's sleek black car as they chatter about god knows what. I've learned to tune various people out very easily. I remember eagerly listening to people in order to help them out in any way I could. I wanted to be like the Seventeen magazine advice columnist but environmentally conscious. Now all I hear are words clumped together as Nelly Furtado pours quickly and loudly out of the various stereos placed throughout the car. Manny bops around in her seat as her hair sways back and forth. Forth and back. Back and forth. I feel like a peacock in a gaggle of geese as I fumble to put on this god damn necklace. They continue to chat as Manny glances in the mirror like she's entranced with it. Medusa has just turned her into stone and she's forced to stare in that direction for eternity.

"Thank you so much for being my date," Manny grins at Marco. "I mean, between Spinner not calling me and people telling me he got mono from Heather Sinclair, I'm happy, you know?"

Marco laughs nervously, "Manny, uh, I think he's too busy being on his death bed to call you." Naturally, this would be my time to jump in and say something to Marco that signifies he's a nice guy or to Manny about not worrying about Spinner not calling her. But honestly, I don't give a flying fuck about anything anymore. I'm just drowning in apathy. It's funny because apathy is this nice little security blanket that you can hide behind. However, you still have to paint on the occasional smile to plead fake sanity. It's a game I've perfected. But then there's Matt who maybe shows some semblance of caring about my existence and my problems. Maybe I'm just being used for those whole friends with benefits thing. I can't read him ever. He's just this complete mystery and so intriguing that I can't even begin to wrap my mind around him. I'm not trying to save him like the typical "good" girl does with the dysfunctional guy. At this point, I'm beyond saving myself. If I had been saved, I wouldn't keep crawling back to him weekend after weekend and returning those subtle flirtatious smirks in Media Immersion when Snake's too oblivious to notice the secrets being whispered. Everyone has this image of me as the epitome of annoying perfection. I'm happy they still have it lingering around in the back of their minds to pull out whenever needed. Its better they think of my former self than who I really am. Frankly, I don't know who I really am and I'm not going to have some random stranger telling me who I am. I'm more comfortable with them telling me about who I was like its some fairy tale I heard when I was four years old.

"So, Em, are you sure that you can't sleep over my house," Manny questions pleadingly. "Darcy, Liberty, and I are having spa slash girls' night. It'll be so much fun." She twirls around in the passenger seat and shoots me a car salesman smile. I'm not buying what she's selling because I already spent my money on something else. I simply shake my head as she looks at Marco with those brown eyes just brimming with sadness. She just got denied playing with the Emma Nelson Barbie doll that still can't get this necklace on. The car stops and we've arrived at the school parking lot.

"Hello Grade Ten dance," Marco greets nothing as he steps out of the car. "We have arrived!" Manny giggles as he swings over to the passenger seat to look like the suave boyfriend she's lacking at the moment. However, Spinner's not suave in the least. Spinner's the bumbling idiot who almost ruined my grade eight science project and is now dating my best friend. I let myself out of the car because I'm supposed to represent feminism and independence and I don't need a nice guy to let me out of the car. That's all I am, a symbol. I'm this annoying little thing you try to find in a book for an English class assignment.

I decide to speak up, "Uh, Manny, can you help me with this necklace?" She nods as I hand her the necklace and pull the bountiful amount of curls up towards the sky. She fumbles with the clasp for a moment before its tight and secure and the Silver Star charm rests on my skin. "Thanks."

"No problem, Em," She says. "Emma…uh….what's that on your neck?" The curtain of curls falls to cover the monstrosity on my neck that I forgot all about. Lies start to gather in my mouth as I wait for the perfect one to utter to cover it up.

"Is there someone you're not telling Manny about," Marco asks devilishly with a smirk crawling up his face. Manny catches the smirk as it crawls on her face now. Yes, there is. But there's no way in hell I'm telling anyone. I'm not going to air my dirty laundry over to you two who will air it out to the entire student body.

"Curling iron burn," I spit out shakily. "It's a curling iron burn."  
"I think you're lying," Manny taunts in a sing song voice. "I think you have a boyfriend and his name is Nate!" What the hell, Manny? Why would I date someone who I've spoken less than twenty words to during the course of my life?

I groan, "God, Manny, it's a curling iron burn. There's nothing else to it. I happen to be a klutz with hair heating…things." I angrily stomp on the rolling black pavement, possibly breaking the heel off of my black high heel open toed shoe. That curling iron is the best alibi in the entire world. Marco and Manny trade glances with each other and then shrug simultaneously. Second glances aren't exactly something that people such as my best friend and Marco waste their precious time on. They chat together as I trail along like a bag of garbage they're dragging behind them. It's time to paint on a smile because I'm supposedly going into a place that breeds happiness and all things completely merry. It's not like I have this complete grudge against dances. It's just; lately I haven't been in the mood for things involving joy and fun. Everything seems drained of the color it once had. I feel sepia toned while everyone else is prancing around in Technicolor. I just don't feel alive and frankly the only time I feel remotely alive is when I'm with Matt. He just seems so drained of color that he's black and white.

I wish someone can tell me how I'm feeling around the clock. It would make matters so much easier. I just wish I was programmed to do everything oh so perfectly so there was absolutely no margin of error. My whole world would be calculated and everything would be just so perfect for me, as I wanted it to be. I've always been a perfectionist but now I'm more of a deceiver. I deceive people into thinking that I'm still the girl I've always been. Am I? Well, if the girl I was would sneak out and date her step father's co-workers behind his back, then yes.

"Hey, smile," I whirl around and am attacked by a flash. Nate's standing there with a cheesy grin accompanied by a camera that just took the world's worst picture of me. "Okay, you suck, you didn't smile." The grin stays glued on his face as he adjusts the black tie sitting on his green plaid button up shirt.

"Thanks, hi to you too," I say blankly. Marco and Manny are probably chattering away because once again, any guy that I talk to who isn't JT or Toby automatically is my boyfriend. I glance back at them and they're on their merry way into the building because I now have a babysitter by the name of Nate Monroe. "Please don't put that in the yearbook."

"Oh c'mon," He pleads. "You'd be the queen of the candid page. I'm actually surprised you showed up."

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, well here I am." We start to slowly walk to the school like leaves rolling because of the wind on the ground. Slowly and awkwardly we tumble towards our destination. It just feels like time all around me is going rapidly while I'm in slow motion. Each moment is slowed down and drawn out over a long period of time. Finally, my sore high heel covered feet make it up the stairs as Nate continues to ramble on about nothing and everything. He has this notorious habit of just going on and on about something. In History class when I'm actually paying attention, he'll start discussions that have like, zip to do with what in the world we're learning about. He could just talk and talk for eternity as I shake my head slowly looking like I'm comprehending what exactly he has to say. The door swings open and I'm drowning enough cheesy dance music that I'm on the verge of overdosing. And then to bring us back to reality at the ticket table is Alex with the sourest expression on her face ever. It's so typical of Alex to rain on everyone's parade for no apparent reason just by _being_ there and looking like she's going to murder the next person who irritates her. Can't she at least plaster on a plastic smile and just deal with it? No, of course not. Alex doesn't deal with things like normal people. She deals with by bringing everyone else down with her.

"Tickets," She says in her typical monotone voice as I place the ticket on the table as she just stares blankly at me and then glances over to Nate. "If you take my picture, you do realize I will kick your ass? Move along, junior. Next!" Nate looks disappointed that he didn't get to capture true anger at its high peak but relieved that he didn't die a horrible and painful death. Of course, now I have to go meet and greet with the people I'm supposedly friends with and feel oh so totally out of place. For Nate, that would be a great photo opportunity because the yearbook just loves pictures of friends smiling. School is a happy place where no one brings a gun and has the intent to kill people, so the yearbook has to portray that.

Toby, Liberty, JT, Marco, and Manny are all gathered near the refreshment table chattering away as the music blares from a nearby speaker. If I don't go deaf by the end of the night, then I'll be oddly surprised. Liberty and JT look like the poster couple that we've wanted them to be while Marco and Manny look like they're having a grand old time. Meanwhile, Toby seems distressed. He keeps throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. Either that or he's dancing in place while complaining about something. I've been under a rock for such a long time that the latter could very well be a possibility.

"Tobes, how can you _lose_ your date," JT questions skeptically. "She's not a stray puppy or a sock that got caught in the dryer's vortex of doom." He glances over at Liberty for her to give some sort of explanation for why Darcy is not with us at the moment.

"Well, I think it's highly unlikely that she just abandoned you," Liberty explains. "Chances are she's probably entranced by some piece of gossip in the girls' bathroom. I wouldn't really put it past her and I don't mean that in the slightest bit of offense." I don't know which I hate more. Do I hate Darcy's existence, her distressing Toby, her serious lack of brain cells, or her stealing of my best friend more? Or do I hate feeling like the odd woman out more? That's like asking if the chicken or the egg came first. Both are rampant possibilities. However, being around the old gang again makes me feel like I have an itchy wool sweater on, so finding Toby's lost date will give me an excuse to break loose from the pack.

"You know what, I'll go find her for you," I fake a smile as I pat Toby reassuringly on the shoulder. "I'll be back with your date!" Hooray for quick escapes from awkward situations. Everyone continues to dance and sway to the music the hired DJ is playing for them. Just because I leave for one moment, the world doesn't stop. I always thought if I ran away or something happened to me, the world would stop in its tracks and everyone would be forced to deal with it like I was forced to deal with whatever has been hurled my way. But the world doesn't stop because I'm just one person out of billions. It makes me feel insignificant as I wade through the masses of people and my own self pity to find Darcy. I want the world to stop. I want people to notice that there's possibly something wrong with me. I want them to look beneath the fake smiles and the layers of lies to see what exactly is under there. However, that's not going to happen. I'm just one person who thought she could save the entire planet.

The hallway is empty and dark as my heels clack against its floors. I don't want to be here right now. Why did I even waste the money on a dress, shoes, and a ticket to be here? It just seems like what I do either accomplishes nothing or screws things up beyond my own comprehension. I've always tried to do the right thing. I've always done the right thing. I mean, I am the queen of virtue and causes after all. They all looked at me like I was the most naïve girl in the world for thinking that I could somehow make some sort of a difference. Turns out, they were right. I turned my whole world upside down. Right is left and black is white right now. I'm probably the upside down one though and I have no clue how to reverse myself. Frankly, I just want to hide the mess I've been making and not ever have to deal with it. Ever.

There's a shadowy figure soaking up the only light in the hallway as it sits on the set of stairs. Another one is standing above it making exaggerated motions and making high pitched noises. Everything is so blurry from faraway but as I get closer and closer to the set of stairs, everything begins to go into focus. I've found Darcy chattering away with someone.

"So, when did you decide you wanted to be a teacher," She asks with a drugged sounding voice. She's high on whoever she's…oh shit.

"Well, I didn't really like how my teachers were back in the day so I decided that I would try and make a difference," I hear a smug voice explain. I feel nauseous for one reason or another. It could possibly be what I had for lunch or it could be something else. It's sort of a sad concept when you can't explain why you're feeling a certain way. It makes me wonder if I've gone completely and utterly insane.

She sighs, "That is so inspiring. It's like how I wanted to be a vet because I wanted to save all of the animals from dying." Everything is crystal clear right now. Darcy abandoned her date so she could talk to Matt about god knows what. She's twirling her hair around her finger like spaghetti on a fork. I suddenly want to choke Darcy's necklace wearing scrawny little neck.

"Darcy! I'm so glad I found you," I greet her. Except, I'm not glad at all that I found her. I want her to suffer a slow and painful death. Step away from him and go back and distract everyone from my absence. "Toby's been so worried about you."

She coughs, "Um, hey, Emma. I was just uh…" She runs her hand nervously through her hair like she has something to hide. I'm the one with something to hide and she's the one with the most pathetic school girl crush in the history of the world. Darcy starts to nervously giggle and it's then I notice she's wearing the same exact type of dress as Manny is, except Manny's is black and Darcy's is a nauseous looking green. "Bye!" She scurries off into the distance and her heels click against the floor like a horse's hooves on concrete.

"Well, that sure was nice of you," He says with a slight laugh as I sit on the steps next to him because I would rather hang myself than go back into the dance I was at for about ten minutes.

I roll my eyes, "That's me, miss doom and gloom."

"And you know, add jealous to that description and that's you," He smirks even though it's not funny at all. "Acting like a jealous wench kind of makes me worry about you, Nelson." Yes, and I'm the queen of England as well, Matty. The more and more I get to know Matt, the more and more he just seems like a sixteen year old stuck in a twentythree year old's body.

I shoot a death glare at him, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Matt?" It's not like, god forbid, I'm actually offended. Please, Matt is the epitome of offensive at times. He's an asshat who for some reason I keep around to amuse myself. However, at times, he's not in the running for the world's biggest jackass. There are times where he does seem to care about people who aren't him. When he actually does care about something, he still manages to show it despite his apathy about everything and anything.

"Uh huh, jealousy," He nods while still having that smirk on his face. "I don't know which is worse, that girl's effing scary obsession with me or the fact that you're _jealous_ of said obsession."

"Oh yeah, you caught me," I lie. "I'm jealous of the fact that I don't have ditzy grade nines worshipping the ground I walk on. It just really hurts me that they don't love me the way they love you."

He sighs, "Too bad it wasn't like that with my senior prom. Damn it, I'm getting bad flashbacks of that right now. I was the wallflower dork who just went there just to stand around in a suit for a few hours. Wait a minute that was the junior prom." And now it seems as though we're taking a stroll down Matt's memory lane. Oh joy. "Senior prom is when I went with the psycho bitch that shall not be named because she stole my The Pixies CD and refuses to give it back until we have a little talk or some sappy crap like that."

"Once again," I groan. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" And would you please stop talking about the ex-girlfriend? It makes me strangely uncomfortable like I'm sitting on a wad of gum and don't know it. It's like, I actually give a damn about said relationship I'm having with the guy next to me on the darkened stairwell which is less than grand. It means I have some sort of emotional attachment to it which is totally not the grounds on which it was formed. God, this is getting complicated.

"Okay, now you're beginning to sound like my mother and it's freaking me out," He says with a slight shudder. "Out of all of the people in the world to remind me of my mother, it just has to be you." Well, he doesn't remind me of my dad. Okay, he thankfully doesn't remind me of either of my dads. Men and I haven't really been best friends. When I was ten, I remember going to the amusement park where some man jeered at me and said I couldn't dunk him into the tank. Well, I certainly showed him after two tosses. However, even before that, I used to always feel so left out when everyone would talk about father's day or the boys would compare their dads to figure out which one of them had the coolest one. I wanted to be one of those girls who was daddy's little angel. Well, that never happened. Snake came into our lives too late and even though he tries so hard to be like a real dad, he doesn't feel like it at all. I know he's not my real dad. It's like watching a movie even though Manny already told me about it.

"Why did I come here," I ask no one in particular out loud. "I wasted money and time to come to a place that I really didn't want to go to in the first place."

"Well, that wasn't smart," Matt says flatly. "I mean, if you don't want to be somewhere, then why do you even go to begin with? It defies logic." Well, so do you. You're not at all logical and yet you act like you're the most put together guy on the planet.

"It just felt required, I guess," I explain. "I mean, Manny thinks I'm this anti-social nutcase and so does the rest of the student population. I just wanted to actually be normal." I look over at him, expecting some sort of answer. But yet again, it's Matt Oleander I'm talking to. The man cannot even answer his own questions so why am I asking him mine? He stares blankly at me.

"Here's a question," He says. I should the little rich girl expecting a Mercedes on her sixteenth birthday. However, I'm the girl who will probably get a horribly made cake and a cheesy card from grandma. "What the fuck is normal? This sure as hell isn't normal. That Danny Van Zandt kid? He's not normal. Uh, your dad's obsession with some band he was in eons ago? That's not normal. Newsflash, Emma, there is no such thing as normal."

He's right. He's so on the ball that it's not even the funny. However, he doesn't follow his own rules. God, what a hypocrite. He doesn't even practice what he preaches so why am I listening to him at all?

"Then what was that thing with Darcy," I ask curiously.

"Hey, at least I know there is no such as normalcy," He snaps. "I'm just pretending there is. It's the kind of thing that keeps you warm at night, sweetheart." He gets off of the stairs and looks like the most irritated man alive. "I'm going to go say I'm not feeling well because there's no way I want to keep on getting these senior prom flashbacks I've been getting. You can leave with me, if you want. My car is right next to that black pick-up truck. If you're not there in ten minutes, then I'll see you tomorrow, maybe." Now I'm alone once again drowning in apathy and confusion. I'm now the shadowy figure soaking up all of the light in the hallway because I'm oh so dark. Even though I'm not even remotely near the dance, I still feel like the most out of place girl on the planet. I hear footsteps stomping against the cold linoleum.

"Hey there you are, Emma," I look up and am faced with Nate who still has that camera hanging around his neck and looks as goofy as ever. "Are you coming back to the dance anytime soon or…?"

"You know what, I'm not feeling too well, I think I'm going to leave," I say in an oh so helpless and whiney voice. I'm currently thanking the stars that my dad decided not to chaperone the dance because he had already chaperoned the grade nine semi-formal two weeks ago. "I'll call my dad and he'll pick me. I hope you get some good pictures for the yearbook."

"Yeah, me too, for the sake of me not getting killed by the yearbook staff," He nods slowly. "I hope you feel better."

He walks off back into the light as I make a break for the side door nearby that leads into the depths of the parking lot. The cool April breeze rolls across my legs and my aching feet as I stand on the sidewalk and try to pick out which car among the many there is Matt's. There are so many cars there and probably so many chaperones there making sure nothing remotely bad happens at the dance and that everyone has a happy and good old time. However, they don't even know squat about the scandal unfolding underneath the surface. There's no one around the exterior of the school and it's oddly silent until a storm of noise becomes nearer and nearer to the sidewalk. Oddly enough, it's the dingy green Honda I was trying to find all along. The window rolls down and the music he's blaring is slightly muted for a moment.

"And for a minute there, I thought you weren't going to take me up on my offer," He smirks.

"Well, I'm just full of surprises," I say as I get into the passenger seat of the car. Cars give you this sense of freedom when you're in them. They can take you almost anywhere you want them to because you're the one in control. You're the one that's guiding it down the road rather than it guiding you.

Goodbye school dance. Goodbye Degrassi Community School. Goodbye people I loathe oh so dearly. Goodbye normalcy.


	9. Sufragette City

_A/N: As you may have noticed, the rating has gone from T to M mostly because the contents of this strange and unusual chapter. The rating has been pushed up because of abuse of the good old F-Bomb and well, you'll find out. Oh, and if you haven't noticed by now, all of the chapter titles are David Bowie songs._

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I can't say I've ever escaped from a dance before. Before Matt, the extent of my rebellious behavior ranged from sneaking into dances dressed as a pop star and protesting against genetically modified foods. I've never been one to rebel in ways that didn't involve saving the environment or protesting.

Honestly, there only a few incidents I can call myself a bad girl. One of them is when I told Raditch that I saw Sean and Jay load various electronics into Jay's black civic. Whatever happened to that car? I thought Jay was too thug gangster to drive around a bright orange car that stuck out like a sore thumb. Then of course, there was the infamous incident that took place before Liberty told me to go to hell. Okay, it's not like I thought Chris and I were going to run off into the sunlight together on a white horse. It's just that I was so not used to Liberty getting something so easily that took me eons to get. She had the piece of candy that I wanted and I tried so hard to get it from her. Of course, Manny nipped that in the bud. What a best friend she was at the time. So, naturally, what did Manny want? Popularity. I was never interested in it. However, I saw the opportunity with the infamous return of Rick to get said popularity. Why did I do that? Emma Nelson would not have done that. I haven't felt like Emma Nelson since Manny told me off and spilled my dirty little secret to Liberty. Emma Nelson wouldn't be some potential boyfriend stealing floozy. She wouldn't protest against a student's right to an education. Slowly, I tried to repair myself and look where I am now. I'm in the passenger seat of Matt Oleander's car when I should be at a dance being Emma Nelson. I can't be Emma Nelson because I don't _feel_ like Emma Nelson. I haven't in such a long time and it kills me.

"So, where are we going," I ask because I need some semblance of knowledge of where we're going. It's not that it particularly matters because we could go to the states for all I care. However, I just have that itching curiosity imbedded deep within me that's always been there. I have to know everything and I won't be quiet until I know everything. Knowledge is a drug. I need it. I want it.

He shrugs as his eyes are plastered on the road ahead, "It's a surprise."

A surprise. My relationship with Matt Oleander was a surprise. It just came without any warning as have most of my relationships I've had over time. None of them are ever expected or predicted. They're a tornado that hits a house when there's only a severe thunderstorm warning. You don't know whether the tornado is going to do the house, whether it's only going to blow things around or level everything. You don't know whether the relationship you have with a person will destroy you or not. He came the day I had the ribbon campaign against Rick to make his life a living hell. Well, Emma Nelson took it a step further and ended up _killing_ him. I remember he just was there nervously sitting in the chair observing the class with an expressionless face. His foot was tapping rapidly and I wanted to tear it off as Manny giggled about him being absolutely adorable. Liberty turned to her and whispered something about it not happening ever while Manny insisted she was only kidding. He was cute in a sort of offbeat way even though I was too busy slowly killing Rick to even notice.

"Pfft, surprises suck," I scoff at him even though everything in my life has been a complete surprise. I try to predict the road bumps that are coming my way so I don't stumble but it never happens. Everything is just tossed at me and I'm supposed to catch it. However, sometimes I can't catch and everything just drops. Everything continues to drop and ends up burying me in a pile of uncaught chaos. "Tell me where we're going now."

He groans, "Geez, Emma, it's not like I'm bringing you to a secluded forest to kill you or something. Like I said, it's a surprise and there's no way in hell I'm ruining it." The headlights from the other cars are a blur behind us as we pass every single one. For once, I feel like I'm the one moving and the entire world has stopped or is in slow motion like I was. So now I'm bored and on a highway and have absolutely no idea where I'm going. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Matt didn't know where we were going and that was the entire surprise. I've always tried to pick the locks of doors I shouldn't have and it's always gotten me in trouble. The noise that day in the hallway was something I should have ignored. It sounded so familiar, something I had heard on countless movies. My body went against my mind and I followed it. Why the hell was I so stupid? Why couldn't I have just gone as far away from the noise as possible?

Of course, I didn't do that. The story of what happened afterwards is as worn out as a pair of shoes rotting away in a landfill. Everyone knows different versions of it that were whispered for days and weeks after it. I wanted an escape from all of it. So naturally, he came along and I just noticed him more clearly. Drifting away from Archie's lesson and to him sitting around and observing the class was something that occurred probably daily. I didn't pay too much to lessons in any of my classes at all. I couldn't feel anything at all. After Sean running home and Toby disappearing off the face of the planet, I felt like I was the sole survivor of a catastrophic event in the entire world. Everyone else who wasn't involved in the catastrophe was shipped off to another planet to live merrily. Misery really does love company.

I put on the fake puppy dog eyes and pout, "Please tell me where we're going or I'm pulling out my cell phone and calling my dad to tell him how much of an ass you're being." Of course, I'm kidding. There is no way I would do that to my only source of stability and pseudo security.

"You do that and I pull over and kick you out of the car," Matt growls. Hopefully, he got the memo that I'm being sarcastic. The joke is being stretched out for a little bit longer as I reach into my purse to locate my cell phone. "And don't think I'm not serious."

"Don't think I'm not either," I smirk while pulling out my cell phone. However, a bright piece of blue paper drops out of my purse. What the hell is it? I bend down to reach for the mysterious blue piece of paper as a curtain of hair falls in my face, blocking my vision for about a millisecond. I sit back up and unfold the piece of paper and realize where it came from.

"What's that," His voice lacks curiosity or any semblance of human emotion that doesn't involve him acting like someone who listens to Coldplay on repeat while suffocating in self pity. Oh wait, I do that too.

I read over the bold black print on the paper, "Are you tired of those pretentious bands who don't know the meaning of real music? If you hear one more horrid emo song, do you want to tear your ears off and go check yourself into a mental institution? If so, our band is the band for you. We're _B is for Band_ featuring Nate Monroe on saxophone, Chester Hosoda on snare drum, and Oscar Jackson on vocals. Please support us at the Degrassi Community School talent show on the twenty fifth of April at the community center at three in the afternoon. How about you join us?" So now I have two reasons for making a guest appearance at the talent show. Don't they know that being social is vastly overrated and I'll probably end up having a shift that day?

Matt is either at a loss for words or really doesn't give too much of a shit. There are times around him where I feel like I'm talking to a wall. However, in the end, it still feels nice that I get things off my chest and they're out in the open. I remember on the day of the shooting when they had Toby, Sean, and I in different corners of the media immersion lab and the resource center. My mom was trying to soak up all of my fear and gloom while Snake paced around like a rat stuck in a cage. Sean was absolutely alone with a policeman while Toby and his step mom bathed in the tragedy of losing Toby's best friend. Then there was Matt sitting in a chair looking like the only source of light in a dark room. He was drenched in endless apathy while we were drowning in our own pain. Sean tried to avoid everything at all costs while I just wanted to get it out of him. I _understood_ how exactly Sean was feeling while Toby had disappeared into hiding. However, Sean left after apologizing and opening all of the wounds I had. Toby was still nowhere to be found. He never answered his phone.

My grades were slipping in almost every subject. Mr. Armstrong told me countless times how my grades had dropped two letters. Miss Hatzilakos kept trying to reach out and catch me so she could put me out on the right track. December was supposed to be a month of Holiday joy. However, Holiday joy is hard to spread when one student is dead and the other is in the hospital. Naturally, Holiday joy was attempted to be spread and what an absolute waste of time that was. Mr. Raditch wanted everyone to just mend their wounds as quickly as possible and bring the school back to its fucking supposed achieved sainthood. My grades were still slipping and I was drowning in my own guilt and depression while everyone else was so close to forgetting about it while everything seemed to remind me of the shooting and how I could have prevented. I could have gently let down Rick and told him that I was just his friend. I could have told him I really was sorry about everything I put him through.

I guess when you spend your entire life being virtuous, stubborn, and obnoxious; it comes back to bite you in the ass really hard. Everything that's happened to me beginning with the shooting has been this hard slap of poetic justice across my face. I try to fight it but I'm weighed down by too much apathy compliments of my driver to the left of me. He's taught me how to not feel a thing and to pretend like you're a normal person on the outside. However, the man was supposed to be tutoring me in Media Immersion because Archie decided to let him.

Suddenly, the car's ignition is shut off and now I realize that we've stopped on the side of the road. I glance over to Matt to see if he's about to murder the next person who successfully drives by or about to have a nervous breakdown. What I've learned from being around Matt is that he has three split personalities. There's the cocky and suave personality that he pulled with me in the beginning and with Darcy on the hallway steps. There's the obedient dog personality that worships the ground Archie works on. Then of course, there's apathetic asshole Matt who I am constantly subjected to. When you first meet Matt Oleander, he pulls the suave personality on you. However, once you've known him for a while, that façade rapidly decays and is rubbed off. There are times that I ask myself why I am dating him. There's no simple answer that could be written as the answer to an essay question on an English test. However, if I had to explain it, I guess it's some sort of understanding and the fact that we both tolerate each other. I know that underneath that suave seemingly smart façade that he's really a bumbling loser who lives in a complete shit hole apartment. He knows that under my cause girl front that I'm probably the craziest girl in the entire universe.

"Hi, mind telling me where the hell we are before I start to freak out," I ask urgently, my words shoot out at the speed of light. "I mean, is there something wrong with the car or what? Are we going to be stuck on the road for the rest of our lives?"

He casts me a look that basically tells me to shut up because there's nothing wrong and I'm just being a paranoid head case. Okay, it's perfectly natural to be just a tad nervous when you're on the side of a road in a place you've never been or don't know the name of.

"Just look at the sign," is his answer to my paranoia. Everything is so simple in his world while everything in mine is just question after question. My problem probably is that I think too much, which I'm in the process of putting an end to. Everything in my world needs an explanation. It would be great if I could organize everything in my life into little Tupperware containers with what the contents are scrawled in permanent marker. As time goes by, I'm beginning to realize that life isn't like that. There are no useful Tupperware containers to sort things into. Everything is just thrown on the floor and you have to take it for what it is, even if you don't know what it is. I absolutely hate that.

I look up at the green and white sign dangling high above me. White letters spell out the name of a city I've never even heard of and it doesn't look as though I can even pronounce it. It's pretty clear right about now that Matt Oleander is probably clinically insane. Before he came to Degrassi, he was probably sporting a white straight jacket before breaking loose from the clutches of a mental institution. Then he changed his identity and hopped himself on pills, alcohol, and nicotine to look as though he's somewhat sane.

"Oshawa," I say awkwardly. It sounds like the name of a bathroom cleaner product. "Um…what are we doing here?"

Matt sighs, like he's ready to tell a long and winding story. He has to prepare himself for every word that's about to spill out of his mouth and into my ear. "Err, my family moved around a lot until we got to Toronto in my junior year. I've been everywhere from Seattle to Montreal. We moved here when I was twelve and I think besides Seattle, this was the best place on Earth. I felt like being nostalgic tonight or some shit like that, so here we are in good old Oshawa to drive around and what not. It's nice to have a little escape from everything in Toronto, you know? You can just leave all of your baggage behind there."

Well, Matt Oleander is simply one strange and complicated man. I've been with him since January and I still have yet to unravel him completely for what he is. What the hell is he? For all I know, he could be an ex-con and I wouldn't even be remotely surprised if he is. I nod slowly and before I know it, we're back on the road to drive through the unknown streets of this mystery city. My head rests against the clear window as I'm pulled along for Matt's little trip down memory lane. This is apparently my life. The funny thing is, I don't mind. I left that damaged little girl back in Toronto and I really don't want to go back to being her yet I always fall into that trap.

The streets of mystery town are empty except for the occasional car that passes us by. I have no clue what time it is and I really don't care. My lack of concern in the time is really apparent when I sneak through my bedroom window and find out by the green LCD lit clock that it's two or three in the morning. Time is always just moving constantly around us and the only time we notice is when we need to notice. I'm hidden behind a barrage of lies and alibis that time has zip effect on me.

"So uh, how old were you when you lived here?"

"I was eleven when we moved here and thirteen when we left and went to Calgary," He informs me. "Good times here."

"I've only lived in Toronto my entire life, so when I graduate I want to move somewhere else," I smile because I want to get out of Toronto as soon as I graduate. "I mean, once you pick up and go to somewhere new, you have this fresh clean slate where no one knows who you were before."

"That was probably the only good thing about moving around so much," He nods. "I mean new identity and everything. My sister loved that part of it before you know; she went and got herself killed." He's off in another world right about now. This world is not one of happy nostalgia and memories. "You don't stuff yourself with a shit load of your dad's painkillers and think you're going to make it out alive. What a fucking idiot. The girl would have been twenty if she wasn't so _fucking_ stupid." He pops and lights a cigarette into his mouth while breathing heavily. Matt Oleander is unlocked.

The rest of the drive is slow and silent. We drive by various homes, stores, and bars that have life. Everything inside of the car is dead. Matt's dead, I'm dead, and the radio is dead now that he's turned it off. Cool April night breeze fills into the car as cigarette smoke escapes from the car. I twirl around the silver chain and star as we continue to drive around aimlessly into the night in this strange eerily silent town. Thoughts and curiosities about Matt's deceased sister fill my brain. What was she like? Why did she stuff herself with painkillers? Those questions are going to go unanswered because I'm too afraid to try and drag answers out of him. He's never tried to drag out the answers to the questions he might have about the shooting. Yet again, he might not even have questions. Don't think about that day, Nelson. Do not think about it at all.

However, as we continue to drive, I try to submerge the thoughts in a distraction. Matt is my distraction that has seemed to calm down as the ashes of his cigarette tumble carelessly onto the grass. It then occurs to me that we've stopped moving and we're parked somewhere. Just like when we began driving here, I had no clue where we were. Now I have no idea where we are and I don't care. The radio's on again as we sit awkwardly like relatives at thanksgiving. The only sound is some classic rock station as both of us are like children in their time out chairs.

"Are you okay," I ask him with wide apathetic yet slightly sympathetic eyes.

He shakes his head, "Not really, you?"

"The same," I nod.

The guy that I thought was the only source of security in my life is now as vulnerable and fucked up as I am. We hide it the same way too. It's just, we're almost mirror images of each other who go around looking like they're the epitome of absolute perfection and sanity but on the inside we're both anything but. We kind of both know how it is to go around living a big stupid lie. Maybe that's why we're right here together in this car in some city I've never heard of instead of being on separate planes of existence.

A radio commercial about a car dealership comes on as I find myself edging closer to Matt. His eyes try to analyze my every movement as he pretty much does the same. Before I know it, I'm practically sitting in his lap as he thinks that this is the wonderful opportunity to kiss me. I shouldn't be kissing him right now. I shouldn't be in this town right now. I shouldn't be in this car right now. I should be having a spa night with Manny, Liberty, and Darcy and pretending like I'm having a good time while I'm drowning in a sea of endless apathy. Instead, I'm in the front seat of the resident teacher assistant's car with his tongue down my throat and his hand scurrying up my back. I shouldn't be enjoying this because technically I'm a vulnerable girl getting taken advantage of by an equally vulnerable guy. The point is, for the first time in several months I actually can feel something and I'm not letting go of this feeling at any price. I want to hide it away in a little box and lock it so no one knows about it and they continue to assume I was feeling in the first place. I'm not the girl who can repair herself in a jiffy because I'm not a repairman…woman….person.

Before I know it, I'm about to be reclining on my back on the rough interior of the driver and passenger seat of this Honda that is begging for a carwash sometime this century. Emma Nelson would not be in this situation right now. She wouldn't have done anything that I've done in the past few months because she would be too busy being so fucking virtuous and naively trying to prevent the collapse of the entire world because she thinks she's wonder woman. However, she's nowhere to be found but she's not dead yet. My head smacks hard on the passenger door.

"Ow, that was my head where my brain is which I need to survive," I whine after pulling myself from Matt. I can feel a bruise and or bump being birthed on the back of my head. I try to rub the pain away which momentarily does rub it away. He looks at me with those apathetic miserable eyes. We talk with our eyes and within a minute or so; we've returned from intermission and now have relocated in the backseat. His hands continue to crawl up my ironic white dress covered back until he's reached what he was looking for all along. I don't know what to do. I feel limp and dead so he's allowed to do whatever he wants. I need to feel and I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to feel something. I duct tape the mouth of my conscience and decide to just be the clay in Matt's hands. I've hit rock bottom and I really don't give a damn.

A man on the radio sings that he's never been to heaven but he's been to Oklahoma where he was supposedly born. At this rate, I'll be fishing my way through the fiery pits of hell. I continue to let him just control whatever is about to happen. Control is something everyone wants but once you have it, you're afraid to use it. So, then you end up handing it off to someone else. The sounds of a zipper coming undone fill my ears above the music emitting from the radio as I try to soak up as many feelings as I can. I continue to kiss him as I feel his hands traveling to places where they shouldn't be. I should put the cap on this but I can't stop what I'm doing. Everything is just getting peeled away and I'm straddling the line of no return. Classic rock continues to fill the car as I feel one of the strongest waves of fear come over me. I don't know what to think because I can't think. I'm just all action and no thinking. Fear is then replaced by extreme pain. I've hit rock bottom.

Supposedly, this is supposed to be one of the most important moments of a girl's life. It's the kind of thing we giggle about in movies and in the girls' bathroom. It's supposed to be this happy moment that you remember for the rest of your life and cherish because it was with someone you love and care about. What bullshit. No romance or caring is anywhere hanging around in the corners of this car. My conscience takes off the duct tape as I feel like I'm a fish out of water. Why are you doing this to yourself? I don't know. Do you honestly think this is going to make you feel any better? I don't know. How does this make you feel? I don't fucking know.

Everything is over as soon as it even began. If anyone asks me where I lost my virginity and to who in my life, I'm going to make up some romantic story to feed them. In all honesty, losing your virginity to your step dad's co-worker in a crap car in the middle of nowhere is something no one wants to hear. Regrets crawl allover my skin as I zip up the back of my dress.

This is something that's probably a routine for some prostitute whom roams the streets looking for someone to sleep with so they can buy their groceries. I'm not a prostitute. I'm a fifteen almost sixteen year old girl who once had hopes and dreams. She dreamed of saving the world and making great accomplishments and hoped she would be able to follow through with. I just killed that girl. I didn't kill her with a gun to the head, pills to the stomach, or a noose to the neck. I just decayed her so much that now she's nothing but ashes ready to be blown away in the wind. I am no longer Emma Nelson.


	10. Space Oddity

It's funny how after you drive by a milestone on the road of life, how you just keep on driving. Maybe what you thought was a milestone really wasn't a milestone in the first place. It didn't mean anything in the emotional sense. Besides, losing your virginity in the most romantic way possibility is sort of a lie. Romantic? More like painful, awkward, and self degrading. If I was some normal cute blonde high school girl, my world would be flipped upside down and I would be giggling to my friends about the experience. I would make it seem like a complete heaven and everyone would worship me and my bountiful knowledge I had acquired in the realm of sex. Of course, this is anything but normal so I'm not giggling with my friends. Instead, I'm walking into Hollywood video clad in purple and black, the standard uniform. It's the morning after and I'm wishing I could go back in a time machine and change what happened. I can't do that, so instead I'm going to block it out.

The place reminds me of an abandoned house with the furniture still inside. Rosie's arguing with some girl with tacky red hair as I walk by to clock in. There's absolutely no noise flowing through anyone's ears besides the arguing between Rosie and tacky red hair girl. I brush aside my bangs as I see Frank sitting on his ass and not exactly performing the duties of being a manager. Who am I kidding? The day Frank would act like a manager is the day Matt actually becomes a teacher. His long hair is a ruffled mess as he has a pair of headphones resting comfortably on his ears blaring thrashing music through them. Too early for heavy rock. I want to go back to bed because I got home at one in the morning last night. I'm on the verge of crumbling into pieces for an amount of reasons higher than I can count on both my fingers and toes. However, the cliff notes version of reasons contains sleeping with the teacher assistant who works with my dad and god…that's probably the hugest cloud that's about to rain insanity on my parade. Even if I got a lobotomy, the events of last night and my disgust towards them would not be erased. They always told us in health class that sex is something that should be planned and penciled into your schedule. Sorry to prove our lovely health class teacher wrong my sex isn't planning your great nana's one hundred and first birthday party. I don't know what the hell it is but I don't like it at all.

Finally, Frank recognizes my presence and realizes I'm actually an employee and not an angered customer who got _Gigli_ instead of _American Beauty_ because the previous renter accidentally switched them. Oh, the joys of working at a video store. Why am I here again? Oh right, I'm a money hungry almost sixteen year old who is asserting her independence by getting a job instead of whining and pleading for money from her parents. Hollywood Video is the collection site of skeeves, high school drop outs, people just out of rehab, and me. I don't really fit into that category so I sit in mine with a big neon sign. I'm Emma Nelson and I'm the most fucked up girl on the planet.

"Yo Emily," Frank greets me with the wrong name.

I groan, "It's _Emma_."

"Yeah, Ethel," Frank corrects himself with the wrong answer once again. "Heh, you should have a friend named Lucy. Anyway, the VCR is broken so Rosie went down to her pad and got some CDs to hold us over until the repair dude comes and fixes it."

"But the kids are going to whine and go crazy," I remind him because I'm going to be the one knee deep in screaming children and parents who are incredibly irritated with said children. My job is the ringmaster of the three ring circus known as Hollywood Video. I'm the only half way sane and non lethargic one there so I have to keep everything attached by the seams so it doesn't rip itself apart. I'm practically the manager but with a barely over minimum wage per hour cash flow. Maybe I should just quit and whine and beg for money from mom and Archie.

"Kids go crazy anyway," Frank says as if he's Albert Camus in the body of a greasy haired drug dealer slash manager of Hollywood video slash whatever else he does that I don't want to know about. "They'll be fine, Ethel." I clock in and resist the urge to just scream. I'm calm and it feels like I've been completed gutted of any sort of emotion. I need to feel something just to make sure that I'm still living. I don't want to be just a zombie who walks around and plagues the world with its lack of life. However, nothing's going to change. I'm going to be numb and I'm going to run to Matt because he's my own personal doctor. I feel again and then I go on until I become too numb again.

I trudge outside into the world of movie and video game rentals with a side dish of candy. Horrible pop music that I've heard more times than a person should permeates through the store as I grab the movies returned last night to restock them. Most first jobs are bagging groceries or asking, "Do you want fries with that?" Honestly, neither of them really appealed to me so I'm stuck in the wasteland. Oh well, seven dollars an hour isn't too shabby. Customers start to meander into the purple themed store looking for their movie needs as I place everything back on the shelf according to genre and then my alphabetical order. Everything is so simple here, sorted into categories for the easiest convenience. Instead of sorting everything in my life into categories, I sort and have control of the entire movie stock.

A group of rowdy kids scamper in with a rather bored looking brunette. Either she had way too much time on her hands or she's the dumping ground for overly hyper active children. Their bright color shirts practically make my eyes want to burn under the fluorescent lights as they run towards the children slash family section that neighbors the new releases. They're a pride of lions chasing after the perfect antelope and I'm just some other animal that could possibly be their prey if they don't catch the antelope. By day I'm the perfect student and employee. By night I'm a little girl lost who finds herself in the wrong place at the right time. This is my life and every second counts. I could change anything at my own personal leisure. Instead, I bathe in the mistakes and get caught up in the web of lies that I'm spinning madly. I could take control of this mess and try to fix it but what's the use? My routine as of now is working out for me.

"What the fuck, Sully," an oh so familiar voice hisses. "Dude, we are not getting Dogma. You've rented it every single week, asshole. I'm tired of seeing Ben Affleck's face." 

Sully groans, "Stop acting like a bitch, Alex. I'm getting Fight Club then. Happy now?"

"No," Alex spits out. "But you're paying for the candy, dickhead."

The relationship between Alex and Sully is one filled with romance, loitering, drinks from the seven eleven, and insulting each other every five seconds. Apparently the demon known as my ex-boyfriend's best friend decided to cheat on Alex with my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. Alex and Amy got into a fight and somehow Alex wound up becoming friends with Sully and dating him. The whole story confuses me due to the number of plot holes but there are just so many things you can explain with a detailed and perfectly woven story. Sometimes things just happen and you don't know why. You either dwell on why it happened or you accept it and move on. Of course, I'm horrible at moving on and a gold medal winner in the art of dwelling.

"…is Fight Club an action movie or drama," Sully asks Alex in a confused "Mommy, where do babies come from?" sort of voice.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? Go ask nature girl," She laughs. "She works here."

"No, you ask her."

"What the fuck?"

"I'm paying for the candy."

"Do you want a sticker?"

The arguing continues. And this is why I hate the skin I used to inhabit. Absolutely no one took me seriously in the least. I was the joke and the punch line rolled into one single girl. They're always telling you to be yourself and then everyone will just love you. That was never the case for me. I used to tell myself that they just didn't understand or get me, so that's why people made fun of me. People fear the unknown. It's stated in the fine print when you're born. It's like, I try to be everyone I can possibly be and I get backlash from it. People ask me why I'm turning into someone I'm not. Yet when someone like, say my best friend Manny Santos goes through a complete metamorphosis, everyone embraces it without question. Is my purpose in life just to be something that will eventually be joked about? Is everything I've believed in just a complete joke? If so, why am I not laughing? Am I the plague? Why the hell is it that I feel like the worst person on Earth all of the time? Who am I to go and complain about that to? Everything is so out of my grasp that it's not even funny.

Is this what my life has been reduced to? A complete lie? I mean, that's all I am anymore. I'm a marketing scheme that portrays something so sacred and perfect but in actuality I'm absolutely rotten to the core. I'm an apple with perfect red skin but with the worm inside eating away at everything. When did this get so terribly complicated that I don't even know what the fuck is going on? Am I stuck in the middle of the web of lies I've spun for eternity? However, there's absolutely no point that I can trace to go back to. I just have to keep on driving until I run out of fuel. The show must go on. I need to keep the curtains open and just act like there's no tomorrow even though there will be a tomorrow and more than likely I will hate it.

"Well, well," a voice greets me menacingly. I swear to god I know who this is but their name isn't on the tip of my tongue. Damn it. I twirl around still with a small stack of videos cradled in my arms and am face to face with Matt's lovely next door neighbor. "At least you're of working age or my good friend Matty's ass would be thrown in jail." She snickers slightly as she airs my dirty laundry right in the middle of the new release section of Hollywood Video.

"Could you be a little _quieter_," I hiss.

Lydia rolls her eyes, "Someone's a tad touchy. Chill out." Sorry, crazy or not, Emma Nelson does not chill out. She's lukewarm and stuck in suspension therefore she can never ever chill out as the saying goes. "When's your break, blondie?"

I glance at the clock wall. The minute hand is slowly inching its way to the four as the second hand whirls around the track and the hour hand just stays there until it can move with the minute hand to the two. Apparently, my break is in two hours but between Rosie flirting with Sully and getting her head bitten off by Alex and Frank just being there stoned off his ass, my break can be right now.

"Uh, right now," I say as though there's supposed to be a question mark attached at the end of the statement. However, the question mark doesn't feel like its needed so it scoots off and three periods come to take its slot. Lydia raises her eyebrows as I begin to walk with her as if I'm programmed to do so. The clouds are thick in the sky ready to rain on absolutely everyone and their parades. I want to go home, crawl into my bed, and suffocate myself with my pillow right about now.

"Here's the thing," Lydia speaks up. "Pardon my French, but what the fuck are you doing with Matt Oleander? I mean, the guy is a drunken loser who needs to be slapped sometime this century." Great, she's staging an intervention for reasons completely unknown to me. Don't I annoy her for some odd reason like practically everyone else on the planet? 

I shrug, "I don't know. What do you want me to say that we're like, oh my god totally in love with each other and we're going to get married?" I can feel her just picking me apart and analyzing me with such precision that she figures out what I'm all about. That would be a miracle because I don't even know what I'm all about anymore.

"Then you would be a dumbass," She states simply. "I mean, what the hell? Why of all the people in the Toronto area did you pick him?" We pass the bank bustling with money hungry piranhas as the sky is concentrated with even more clouds filled to the brim with moisture.

I scoff, "Why do you need to know? More importantly, why do you even care? It's none of your business." I want her to stop interrogating me while poking and prodding in all of the right nooks and crannies. It seems as though she's the kind of person who puts people underneath a microscope and zooms in on every imperfection and magnifying it one hundred times.

There are so many people I would rather be right now. I would give anything to just crawl around in their skins and be them so I didn't have to face dissection on a cloudy Saturday afternoon. I could crawl around in Danny Van Zandt's skin and be an absolute nut job annoying people and making them secretly wanting to laugh with my antics. I could be free and in grade nine again just being a complete dope just acting like life is one Adam Sandler movie after another after another. I could crawl around in Darcy O'Sullivan's skin and just giggle at everything and act like the world is an extended issue of Seventeen magazine. I could be a cheerleading star and know what exactly is going on in the life of Manny Santos while yelling at my obnoxious older brother for being a jackass. I could crawl around in JT Yorke's skin and be a comedian that everyone laughed with and not at. I could have slightly quirky parents and an older sister who needs to get her mind out of 1999. However, out of all of the people I could be at the moment, I'd probably choose Nate Monroe.

The formerly fantastic five that may rest in peace never really acknowledged the presence of Nate. He was just kind of there in the back of our classes shooting off random questions that didn't pertain to the lesson plans at all. He had enough quirks to hand out to sitcom characters and still keep some for himself in the end. Everyone in our grade knew him as your typical band geek with tousled dirty blonde hair and getting every god damn solo in one of those band concerts I was forced to go to. He had a love for drama and would have a supporting role in the play. He was just there in existence and no one really ever noticed him that much.

However in High School, when you have a band, you're some sort of a celebrity. All of the girls in the younger grades absolutely adore him. He's the human form of an Indie movie gone completely mainstream without losing any of its glory. He still asks bizarre questions in History that still don't pertain with the lesson. He still trips over his own feet when he's wearing a new pair of shoes. He's the same exact person but magnified so that everyone notices him and adores him. Yet again, I've been myself in all the possible magnifications humanly possible and I just annoy people to no end. I'm the joke that I don't get while everyone else is just laughing and confusing the hell out of me. Not funny. At all.

"Have you left the building," Lydia's voice howls at me, slightly amused. "Dude, I'm surprised you didn't get hit that asshole in the black convertible." And now it seems like she's going to make a spectacle of herself while I just want to make like the rain and drip into that storm drain sitting on the edge of the road. "Hey jackass, hitting people looks like shit on your record!" Then the person in the black convertible proceeds to flip off Lydia before speeding off and leaving the Dunkin Donuts we're right next to behind on the road. She glances at me again with her microscope eyes just burning away any semblance of a front that I have left right about now. "So now that I just saved your life, tell me why you're with the second biggest asshole in Toronto." She looks at me impatiently as I damn up all of the words that are trying to tumble out of my mouth and into her ears.

"I don't know, it just sort of happened," I explain as I lean against a no parking sign. "And over and over again, it just happens. I just happen to lie to my parents that I'm going to my friend's house. I just happen to end up at his shitty apartment night after night. It's like, putting up with his crap is the only form of stability I have in my life." I'm in desperate need of a rewind button. "He's not that bad. I mean, aren't you supposed to hate your neighbors?"

She continues to stare blankly, "Sam and Clarissa didn't hate each other. Mr. Feeny gave Corey and Eric advice."

"Those are examples from television shows," I point out.

"And your point? Matt's an asshole and I'm still friends with him," Lydia states. "I'm friends with a ton of assholes, actually. That's okay, even assholes need friends. However, what I don't get is that you and all of these other girls are like thinking that the guys I'm friends with are Prince Charming."

I groan, "I never thought the guy was Prince Charming, for crying out loud."

"Yet for some reason, you keep crawling back to him like he's supposed to come out on a white horse and save you," She scoffs. "Newsflash, Matt can't even take care of himself let alone another human being. I don't think the man can even take care of a pet rock. But for some reason, you're completely enamored with him and letting him do whatever the hell he wants to you." Why do I feel like someone just ripped off all of my clothes, threw them in the streets, and they got run over by an eighteen wheeler? I have to bite back and not let her kick me while I'm down and bleeding on the ground.

"You seem to get a pretty big trip out of not dating someone you claim to be a colossal asshole," I spit back. "First of all, you don't even know me and who I happen to be involved with isn't any of your concern." Lydia just rolls her eyes before flipping a stream of curls over her shoulder.

"Whatever," She groans. "Have a nice life with Prince Charming, blondie."

It's then that I'm alone standing against a No Parking sign as it starts to downpour all around me. I'm absolutely saturated with rain that could possibly be considered an acid as my heavy cotton purple shirt clings to me like static. Has everything just spiraled so out of control that I can't hit the stop button? No, it couldn't have because regardless of my situation, I wouldn't have let that happen. Maybe everything has just been spinning for the longest time and it's finally stopped. I can't survey the wreckage around me. I want to get off this ride but I can't yell at the person spinning me around and around.

I'm not going down without a fight.


	11. Somebody Up There Likes Me

A/N: Wow, who would've thought that it'd take me three years to write another chapter? Weird, huh? Dude, this just came out of nowhere. I've been watching Degrassi a lot lately online and I started it a little while back and boom, here comes the chapter.

A lot of things have happened since I published this story. The one in the Degrassi universe that affects this story is the fact that since I posted the last chapter, Darcy has an official last name now and back in the day when I was working on this, she didn't have one. Oh, and actually being a developed character. That sums up how long it's been. I hope there's people out there who dig this story. I really want to actually finish this because it's a story that surprisingly enough, I still have interest nearly four years after starting it.

ooooo

The next two weeks of my life fly by rather quickly. It's as if I slowed down on the road so I could visit the important milestones of my life. IE: losing my virginity to the guy who pretends to kiss my dad's ass day in and day out. The sad thing is that I'm not delusional and can actually comprehend how positively messed up the situation is. The other sad thing is that I'm okay with it being positively messed up. Everyone who sees me basically sees me as infallible. I'm like a goddess. Even if I'm damaged goods, I don't let people see it. I mean, why would I? The first month after the shooting, everyone handled me with care. They didn't want to drop and break me. Everyone's under the impression that I glued myself back together now. I like that. It helps me sleep a little bit better.

I guess in some sick and twisted way, I do care about what people think. I've always gone out of my world to help others. I'm the girl who donates her old clothes to the local battered women's shelter. I'm the girl who bugs her mom to get energy smart appliances, so to hopefully help the future generations have a clean and wonderful planet to live on. I just can't help myself some of the time. I guess in some ways, I'm like a martyr. I stand for something. That's all I'm meant to be. God, that doesn't even make sense. I just wish the world would associate me with something other than being this environmentalist who was just passionate about every cause under the sun. I've been desperately trying to find some sort of thing to be passionate about. I mean, that's what people tell you. Find something you're passionate about. It's easier said than done. It's a struggle sometimes, just to get out of bed in the morning. Being passionate about something? That's something...I don't think I could accomplish. But for the sake of faking it, all of my passions are on hiatus until former notice. Like a TV show. In some instances, that means that the show is getting cancelled. Right about now, that's all up in the air and the truth will drop from the sky when it's ready to.

Until that happens, the life of Emma Nelson is pretty much on auto pilot. Going through the motions is easy because it's all routine to me. If I could, I could be an amazing actress. From what I hear, acting is basically just lying. I could bring home the gold in lying, if it were ever an Olympic sport. The truth used to be a drug for me. I was always about honesty. It's beaten into our heads time and time again when we're younger that it just happens to be the best policy. Do we lie and let ourselves get buried under each lie that we churn out? Or do we sit and fear the consequences that happen after we've decided to be completely honest? Everything used to be in such black and white terms. Now it's all just gray area. That's...completely terrifying. I miss the black and white. It gave me a little bit of comfort. Lying is comfortable now. It's funny how time distorts things.

It's also funny how within a full two weeks, how something can just totally disintegrate. It's lunch time and Manny's attempting to bury her face into the lunch table in the cafeteria. The story that I was told during homeroom was that Spinner and Manny got into an explosive fight near her locker. It consisted of things that involved Heather Sinclair and how she had been constantly hitting on Spinner. Spinner and Heather had been spending tons of time together, given their project they had to work on for Media Immersion. There's also the fact that there was a rumor igniting the school about how Spinner had gotten mono from Heather. Manny had grown suspicious and confronted Spinner about everything. Spinner accused Manny of being over dramatic and possessive. It escalated from there. Of course, this little tale wasn't told to me first hand. It wasn't the case of Manny neglecting to tell me about her personal life. I mean, that was what I did to her all of the time lately. Instead, it was a case of Manny sobbing and her speech not being able to be deciphered. JT delivered the news to me while putting his famous JT spin of comedy on it. Manny didn't appreciate it and tried to threaten him but it didn't come off as a threat. It was just Manny saying through sobs that she was going to stick her platform shoe up JT's ass.

Friendship sure is wonderful.

"Manny, I know you're upset but you're just going to make yourself sick if you don't eat something," I try to muster up all of the comfort that I can before taking the pudding cup off of my tray. "Mmm, pudding..." I wave it in front of her face, hoping that the smell of chocolate will pull her out of her trance. It'll probably take the jaws of life to get Manny out of her heartbroken trance. Manny doesn't exactly deal with heartbreak all that well. The girl is a sucker for true romance and the whole she-bang. Spinner was her knight in shining armor. Unfortunately, her knight was being lusted over by Heather Sinclair. High school relationships suck.

"I'm not hungry," She whines but decides to lift her head up and wipes away the tears that flowed down her face and the ones that have yet to drop from her eyes just yet. "He told me to bring his stuff back by his house. We're totally over AND HE RUINED THE FLUFFY FLUFF COLLECTION FOR ME. He gave me Lala Llama which was the only one that I didn't have."

The normal supportive thing to do would be to tell Manny that given the fact that it's Spinner Mason, he'll be begging for forgiveness at her feet in no time. Then again, I don't know anything about relationships. See: Sean Cameron, Chris Sharpe, and Matt Oleander. I rest my case. I guess that's selfish of me but there's a first time for anything and everything.

"I'm sorry, Manny." That was supportive enough.

She sighs, almost dramatically. Manny's always had the penchant for the over dramatic. "Thanks," She forces a smile. It almost looks as though right now, smiling is some sort of task of biblical proportions. "I don't know, Em. I just...a month ago, I told him that I loved him and now we're so over. How messed up is that? But...at least you, me, and Darcy can all be independent women together. Boys are stupid."

"Amen." Despite not exactly being an independent woman as Manny put it, boys just so happen to be stupid still. It's a fact of life. However, being an independent woman with...Darcy? That sounds about appealing as jamming a thumb tack into my eye. It's not that I hate Darcy. I just don't like a lot of things about her. Toby's crush on her is just nauseating. The last time I checked, Toby liked girls with depth like Kendra. Darcy is basically the Jennifer Jason Leigh to Manny's...the other actress in Single White Female. She worships the ground upon which Manny treads. Manny is so wrapped up in being Darcy's BFF and giggling and wielding pom poms with her. I feel replaced. Not that I care. Much.

Somehow, rest of the lunch period is spent with me and Manny talking about boys like old times. I don't tell her a single detail about the life and times of Emma Nelson with appearances by Matt. I listen sympathetically to Manny as she whines and blabs her heart out about everything related to Spinner. She plans on throwing out her brother's copy of Wayne's World because it reminds her too much of Spinner and the several times she was forced to watch it. She isn't too sure on whether or not her and Marco will still be friends. I reassure her that Marco probably values their friendship and won't let Spinner get in the way of it. It's a sentiment that I'm earnest about. Out of all of Manny's posse of new friends this year, I like Marco the most. He's one of those people who just effortlessly is a sweet and admirable person, from what I see. I guess it's selfish that while I feel completely bad for Manny and her break up with Spinner, it feels nice to actually talk to her like old times. I thought old times were archived and only to be pulled off the shelf for nostalgic purposes. This is one of those rare times where I was wrong and I'm just perfectly okay with it. It only happens once in a blue moon. Suddenly, I feel irreplaceable.

Afternoon classes slide by almost carelessly. I'm still going through the motions of a normal Tuesday afternoon. This time around, I'm not dully just drifting through my day like it's a requirement. I smile a little bit. I manage to raise my hand a few times. It's sad in a way that Manny's suffering is the reason why we had a bonding session during lunch today. There's this thing called the butterfly effect. The flap of a butterfly's wings can cause a tsunami an ocean away. One little event just springs others into action. I guess I'm accepting the fact that life is random. One event causes another and so on and so forth. My entire life is defined by this butterfly effect. It's so terrifying that I don't know what the hell is going to happen next. I pondered all of this during study hall while instead of staring into space, I sat and managed to complete my Math homework. This day is one that's full of so many accomplishments. I'm almost proud of myself for making progress. I'm trying to bring myself to actually care.

I care enough to smile and oblige when Manny asks me to accompany her to yearbook. I care enough to wave goodbye to JT and Liberty when we pass them in the hallway, something that hasn't been incorporated into my routine in ages except when forced. One event has defined the rest of my day. It's satisfying when life actually works itself out every once in a while and it's just so random. It's like when your parents say you're only getting three Christmas gifts but instead you get five. It's a pleasant surprise that you just totally cherish. Maybe this is all totally stupidly optimistic of me. Maybe I'm not supposed to be sporting the rose colored glasses right about now.

However, I really don't care at this given moment. Manny and I file into the classroom where the yearbook club meeting is being held and sit pretty at two desks that are nestled next to each other. Various students are scattered about the room. April is almost at a close and it's so weird how the yearbook's have to be sent to the printer within the next week or so. I don't want this school year to be commemorated and doomed to be in print permanently. Everything is set in stone. That's the downer of the day. Ten years from now, we can crack open our yearbooks and recant the memories we had. I suddenly hate myself for ordering a yearbook before the butterfly flapped its wings and the tsunami damaged everything it touched. Some of us managed to have our houses not be touched by the storm. Some of us managed to only have a little bit of damaging and repairs to do. Some of us had our houses devastated and rebuilding them has been an epic task. Some of us are standing in the rubble still. And one of us got taken away in the tide. Granted, Rick was never one of us. That's the reason why everything set into motion in the first place.

"I cannot believe the talent show is next Monday," Manny sighs, finally being able to fixate on something other than the explosion that ended her relationship with Spinner. "You better be coming, Em. I can use all of the moral support I need. I seriously don't want to get so nervous I puke on the stage." Did I mention that Manny has a penchant for the dramatics? I highly doubt that someone who is a total natural when it comes to being in the spotlight would puke on stage.

I give her a look. "Manny, you'll be fine. Trust me. And...I wouldn't miss it for the world." I can't tell whether or not that's going to be a lie, come next Monday. It's hard to tell these days.

"Thanks," She smiles appreciatively.

The moment is ruined for me when the door swings open. I wish the butterfly effect hadn't landed me in this exact room right now. Life is so unpredictable like that and it's moments like these where I don't want to cherish it because I can't and it's not a moment that I'm going to cherish. My secretive life and my public life are like a warm front and a cold front colliding. I have to honestly wonder what the hell Matt's doing here at the yearbook club meeting. He would rather choke and die than be involved in an extra curricular activity voluntarily. I'm guessing that he got forced and in an effort to keep up his charade of being the obedient little TA, he obliged with a shit eating grin. I now resent all of the butterfly effect with every fiber of my being.

"Right, so, I'm guessing there's more people coming." Crickets. I almost feel embarrassed for him. He's met with various blank stares. Manny's casually filing her nails. Danny Van Zandt looks like he's counting the dots on the ceiling. Meanwhile, I'm resisting the urge to laugh a little bit. It's just so awkward, seeing Matt have to take charge of an actual situation that might require him to actually teach. Granted, he's the master of bullshitting and pretending. However, there's just something that's so awkward about all of this that it's almost funny. I also have a masters in bullshitting so I play the part of the bored student and fiddle with the bracelet on my hand.

"Oh my god, Darcy is going to flip when she sees that Mr. O is filling in for Miss Kwan," Manny says, quite amused while still mindlessly filing her nails and admiring her job. "She has the hugest crush on him. I'm talking massive. Like, really massive."

I'm not sure what I'm feeling right about now. It's a weird unknown feeling with a side of being irked by Darcy's little school girl crush that's so god damn obvious to everyone. Except Matt. Okay, he's enough of an egomaniac to notice. Maybe Toby's oblivious to it too, given how he's apparently been on another date with Darcy since the infamous dance.

"...Really?"

Manny looks at me as if I've just asked her the most stupid question in the span of human history. "Yeah, Emma. Where have you been," Manny states in an 'it's so obvious' sort of tone while being slightly amused.

I've been doing things with Darcy's little crush that would make Darcy cry in jealous. That's where I've been.

"Um, is this...yearbook," Darcy manages to spit out while getting all googly eyed at Matt. I'm sure he's just loving it. Guys love being admired by girls, even ones they'd have positively no interest in. It's how men work. They're a weird species.

"IT'S ON THE DOOR. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO READ? GO BACK TO PRESCHOOL, DARCY!" Everyone turns around to the back of the room and sees that the obnoxious yelling has just been brought to everyone by Sully whose laughing like an idiot while Darcy's probably mortified out of her poor little brunette mind.

Matt explains to Darcy that this is yearbook as Sully oh so rudely stated. She happily almost skips to the free desk that's on the other side of Manny while mouthing the words 'oh my god, I love my life' as she happily plops herself in the seat. Meanwhile, I don't love Darcy's life or Darcy herself. I'm resisting the urge to shove her into the paper shredder that's in the back corner of the classroom. I swear I'm not violent but Darcy annoys me so much. Maybe Darcy's actually a sweet girl once you get to know her but I've gotten to known her in a context where she annoys me.

The yearbook club meeting rages on from that point. Matt explains that Miss Kwan insisted that she have a substitute for her yearbook adviser duties what with there still being a ton of work to do on the yearbook. Manny continues filing her nails while Darcy stares all googly eyed some more. I rest my head on my hand and tune everything out. The real world is a mere background noise and in my own world of thoughts, I contemplate nothing and everything. The school year is two months away from closing and we're supposed to rush to commemorate it. I'm still not sure why we even have a yearbook this year but I guess there's some things that have to go unexplained. Perhaps it's because everyone wants this school year to end on a "normal" note. Wishful thinking. There was nothing normal about my tenth grade experience in the least.

"So, Toby's coming over to my house for dinner tomorrow night. I mean, can you imagine how mortifying that's going to be? Mimi, you've met my parents and my sister. They're total nightmares," Darcy drones on as I just managed to tune the real world back in. I should be thankful that Darcy's picked a topic that particularly doesn't annoy me. Actually, I am thankful.

Manny scoffs a little bit. "Please. Toby Isaacs is like, every parents' dream." Manny argues a good point. I argue nothing and instead I sort through all of the order forms like I was told to. It's a relatively easy job for someone who just decided to show her face at a yearbook club meeting but then again, I highly doubt that Matt knows what he's doing. He sure knows how to act like he does though. I guess that's common ground for the two of us.

"Okay, so, who am I supposed to give these forms to," I ask after finishing my yearbook duties and simultaneously interrupting the not so heated discussion between Manny and Darcy.

For some reason, Manny cracks a smile. It's a mischievous smile like she knows something that I don't. "Uh, go hand them over to your friend, Nate," Manny beams with a voice like a mother who found the perfect potential husband for her daughter. Oh god.

I sigh, picking myself up from my seat and scanning the room. I meet Matt's eyes for one single second and he gives me a little bit of a smirk. It clearly says "Oh man, I can't believe you got roped into this too. That's so shitty." Granted, I came willingly but there's a lot of progress to be made before I actually enjoy a yearbook club meeting. Baby steps. I acknowledge his glance and smirk and respond with a slight smile before finally glancing and spotting Nate who is now not only the beloved member of B is for Band but also a dedicated yearbook staff member. Who would've thought? He sits towards the front but a good fifteen feet from where Matt is overseeing Miss Kwan's dedicated group of yearbook staffers. He oversees us by reading the newspaper, probably the comic section. Sadly, I've been around with the guy so much to know that he enjoys his comic section as opposed to the actual news. Good old Matt Oleander.

"Nelson, buddy. Since when are you in yearbook club," Nate greets me with a warm smile as he looks up at me. He takes out his ear buds and stashes the iPod he was listening to in his messenger bag that sits lazily on the floor.

I stand next to his desk. "Uh, as of a half hour ago? I sort of just tagged along with Manny." I display the organized stack of forms before him and he gladly accepts them. "Manny said I should hand the forms over to you, so. Here I am." I smile awkwardly. The thoughts of Manny and Darcy giggling over this interaction make me feel a little bit on the uncomfortable side along with the fact that Matt's sitting nearby and can probably hear this whole entire conversation.

"Uh huh," Nate nods. "...Feel free to sit. I don't bite and I could use the company."

I don't know why but I sit at the desk that's parked right next to Nate's as he's looking over various things and is probably doing the most work of everyone here. It's funny how this awkward kid in a band is responsible for making sure the production of the yearbook goes off without a hitch. Nate never ceases to surprise us all. I cast him another polite but awkward smile after sitting down next to him.

"So, how's tricks? We haven't spoken in a while."

"Um, yeah, since the dance," I reply, a bit hesitantly. It's been two weeks but it's all so fresh in my mind. I don't know if a lot of girls nowadays would be so obsessive when it came to a milestone like losing their virginity. Most girls just want to get it over with. I know Manny cherished the fact that hers was with Craig. She probably built everything up in her head about how it was going to be romantic and after everything was over, she and Craig would be in love and live happily ever after. One mad Ashley Kerwin, two reputations tarnished, and one abortion later; it's clear that there was no happily ever after for Craig and Manny. I guess I'm in the same boat. I built everything up in my head. Sometimes I thought it was going to be with Sean, if we managed to last for a substantial amount of time. That fantasy dissolved over time. I just hung onto the possibility that it would be with someone I cared about and I wouldn't entirely regret it. I didn't think it would be with my dad's co-worker in the back of a car. I mean, in some respects, I don't regret it. I guess. I'm still not sure.

"I've just been busy. Classes and homework can be such a drag,"I managed to continue and explain.

He laughs, "Yeah, preach it, sister. Yeah, between the band, yearbook, and all of the scholastic crapola that's going on, I haven't had enough time to breathe. It sucks hardcore."

"Wow, someone's an overachiever."

"This is coming from the girl who protested and got suspended along with starting up SITE. I think you're the definition of an overachiever," Nate shrugs and replies with a smile that says he respects me. Nate, like a good majority of everyone else, is still stuck and fixating on my former self. At least I had that to hold on to. It helped me with fooling everyone around me.

"I'm not really all that involved in SITE anymore," I state, truthfully. I can't believe I've just said that. I'm preparing myself for the disappointed look on Nate's face.

Instead he just looks at me, almost in understanding. "Oh, bummer times. It was good times while it lasted though, I bet."

"Yeah, it was."

About twenty minutes passes by while Nate and I are wrapped up in small talk. It isn't any sort of in depth conversation about the world affairs and everything. He talks about how Chester isn't a fan of the fact that he wants to cover a song that Chester calls totally ancient. I say that chances are, he's going to kick ass at the talent show next week. I'm sure he will. Nate has the tendency to flawlessly just glide through life like that. I envy a little bit. He asks me what bands I like and I tell him how when I first heard "Sparks" by Coldplay off of their Parachutes album, I wanted to cry because it was such an amazing song. His favorite song off that album is apparently "Don't Panic". It isn't a deep conversation by any means but there's something that just flows. Any awkward and uncomfortable feelings that I had before have just melted away and disappeared into a storm drain.

"The fact that you have yet to listen to A Rush Of Blood to the Head makes me concerned for your well being," Nate replies, fully ready to give a five page review on the second Coldplay album in excruciating detail. "I mean, the album is just nothing short of amazing."

I smile a little bit, "Hey, I've heard The Scientist and Clocks. That should count for something, right?"

"NO," Nate states, a little bit loudly and in a mock offended tone as if I've just insulted his dying mother. "Yes, The Scientist is a song that moves people to tears. Then there's Politik which is this beautiful arena rock song that will seriously change your life. I'm dead serious."

"Really?"

Nate digs out the iPod that was resting comfortable within the depths of his messenger bag before handing it out to me. "Here. I pretty much have this loaded with life changing music. I'm passing the gift onto you, Emma. And you're going to be like, 'God, Nate, you've rocked my world'. I kid you not."

I can't help but smile and laugh just a little bit as I put his iPod in my own backpack that's leaning against the chair I've been sitting in and chatting happily in with Nate. It isn't until I turn around that I realize that we're not the only two people in the room. There's Manny and Darcy, chatting and fooling around with their cell phones. Manny gives me that suggestive smile that suggests that in the next little while, I will be Mrs. Nate Monroe. I then look over to the desk and see Matt, glancing in curiosity in my direction for a brief second. I meet his gaze before he buries his face back into the newspaper. What was that about?

"I am?"

"Big time," Nate nods confidently.

It's then that there's a sudden burst of people heading towards the door. Apparently, quality time with putting the final touches on the nostalgia book that is our yearbook is coming to a close and everyone's filing towards the door. I've had this tendency a lot lately where I zone in and out and time has past by. I honestly wonder where the time has gone and I haven't really taken advantage of all of those wasted minutes. These minutes aren't wasted.

"Em, Darcy and I are going to The Dot. Apparently, Spinner wants us to talk and I totally need reinforcements. Are you game?" She looks at Nate before looking back at me and then looks back at Nate. "You can come with, if you want."

"I'm down with that," Nate says as I nod to indicate that I will be a part of Manny's army because for whatever reason, girls have to bring friends when they are supposed to have a one on one talk with their now ex-boyfriends. Who would've thought? Manny tells us that she'll see us there before she and Darcy leave and will probably discuss the hot topic that is what Spinner wants to talk about when Manny arrives at The Dot. Now there's a rabbit hole I wouldn't want to go down.

Nate stands up, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "You know what? Meet me by my locker. I have to go down to detention and have a little chat with Chester. Yeah, detention. That guy's trouble with a capital T. Later, Emma."

He leaves and I wave, not realizing that everyone else has filed out of the room for the most part. However, I turn around and there he is. Matt's standing there, giving me a curious glance as I pick my backpack up off of the floor and put the straps over my shoulders. It's hard to tell what Matt's thinking, at times. Sometimes the words are all in his eyes and I can just read him so easily. Times like these, I just need my own personal Rosetta Stone to decipher Matt.

I finally open my mouth, raising an eyebrow at him, "What?" I'm on the edge of my seat, waiting for an answer. Suspense flows through my body. It's the million dollar question. I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be expecting for his answer.

"Nothing." That was anti-climatic.

There's something so odd about that one word that he answered my question with. I'm sure that there's no way in hell that he's at all jealous that I was chatting away with Nate. Let's face the facts here, Matt Oleander is way too apathetic to be remotely jealous. He doesn't get emotional over anything besides his dead sister. It's just not in his wiring to get like that. Maybe I'm a little bit of Manny in the regards that I want him to be jealous over my interactions with a guy that are probably nothing more than friendly.

"Okay then," I finally reply. I wait for a minute for him to respond and say anything or nothing at all. Instead, he just enthralls himself with the newspaper he's been reading. I wish he had said something. "Bye, Matt."

I trudge out the door, probably leaving Matt somewhat dumbfounded over how short I cut our conversation. It's not as though I'm going to go and jump Nate. Despite what everyone thinks, I have zero romantic interest in him. I can see why someone would but really, I'm not one of them. It's not as though I'm going to want to sit with Darcy and Nate while watching the soap opera known as Spinner and Manny unfold before my very eyes. And it's not as though I'm wanting Matt to actually give a damn about anything and everything. I actually have no idea what I want.

But I still manage to walk out the door with a little bit of a smile, not beginning or wanting to question anything.


	12. After Today

A/N: My apologies for the intervals in between chapters. I hope to have this project finished relatively soon. For those who are still reading and interested after all of this time, you rock and be sure to leave a review. Please enjoy!

- o - o - o - o -

It takes one intervening Marco, two hours, and three iced teas for negotiations and apologies to be reached in the camp of Manny and Spinner. Marco seems to have flawlessly fit into his role of the Dr. Phil type of mediator in this relationship fiasco as Darcy, Nate, and I are the audience at the neighboring table. The dynamics of a relationship are all put on display for us to observe and soak in. A disagreement blows up and shakes a relationship to its bitter core causing a tear in it along with just eating away with it, whether it be quickly or just slowly in a completely agonizing matter. Sometimes, the wound heals itself. Sometimes, it doesn't. That's up to the relationship.

I swirl my straw around in my iced tea, hearing the ice clink against the glass in a percussion that is the symphony of noises of The Dot. Darcy checks text messages on her phone while looking over at Manny with an 'Oh my god, I told you that you guys would get back together!' look plastered on her perpetually perky face. Darcy has now taken the role of Manny's soundboard, personal cheering squad, and Dear Abby. It's something that I've tried getting used to. I thought that because of today, Manny and I were intertwined, soul sisters, and best friends forever once again. It's just more obvious now that with Manny's more Darcy oriented glances and how inseparable they happen to be. There's a bitter loneliness when you realize that the person you considered your number one confidant and soul sister doesn't return the sentiment. You're just a back up option. You're the second choice when the other one is out of stock.

"Whoa, are you contemplating plans for world peace," I hear a voice. It's attached to Nate, stuffing his face with French fries and on his second iced tea. "The Dot's not really the place where deep thinking takes place, I'm surprised."

I laugh, taken off guard. "Oh yeah, you know me. Our talk about SITE made me think that I wasn't reaching high enough."

"Was SITE that little…environmental club where you would pick up litter and trash and clean the ravine," Darcy interrupts, rather untactful. I don't know what's worse, Darcy being totally oblivious or Darcy being purposefully demeaning. Today's been a damn good day. It's that silver lining I've been looking to hold onto for dear life and I'm not letting some girl like Darcy catapult me back into the night of the living dead movie that's been my life. Talking to Manny and Nate today was like being stowed away with no oxygen and finally getting that first breath of normalcy. I felt hope.

Part of me still feels like I don't deserve that hope. Part of me still feels like I deserve the way I feel. I probably do. I put my fate in my own hands and look where I am. I'm night of the living dead and on those nights, I'm having an illegal affair with a guy who works with my own step father. It's sick, it's twisted, but maybe this is the way things go.

"Um, yeah, it would be," I state, icily to Darcy. Manny's not in the vicinity, so there's no reason for me to be civil towards her. How dare she mock something I worked so hard to build. How dare she. Sometimes, it only takes one person to care and I did a hell of a lot in my time there. But in a way, I mock that person too. I mock that person who thought she could fix everything, as if she had some wonderful magic wand. Yeah, how naïve was I. "We did a lot of good for the environment."

"But the trash just goes there anyway in the ravine, right? I mean, it's…Jay Hogart and his flunkies being drunk idiots half of the time," Darcy argues back, regally sipping her ice tea, as if she has the right to argue about this. She didn't even go to this school when I started that club. "They were just going to get drunk and dirty it again."

"That's not the _point_," I spit out. This girl is invalidating my former self. I don't even feel comfortable in the skin that I inhabit right now. "At least someone was doing _something_ about it instead of doing nothing."

I can't help but notice my words and how they roll off my tongue. It's just so uncanny. I thought I was paying back my debt when lo and behold, I decided to let Rick be friends with me. It seemed as though it was a small price to pay for basically having the entire student body loathe his existence. My exact words when I found out about Rick Murray were "We have to do something!" I talked about him like he was just some rare breed of panda in the depths of some Asian jungle, slowly dying off and needing funding or a few to be put into captivity to help breed more. So, all of Degrassi decided to "do something" about Rick. They made his life a living hell on earth. I'm surprised he kept his head above the water for so long. Maybe having friends like myself and Toby were the silver lining of his torturous days at Degrassi. Kind of ironic on my part. It makes me sick but all I want to do is try to reach for normalcy. I can't take this anymore. I want the fog to lift. I just want peace. Is that so wrong?

"Um, okay then," Darcy says, condescendingly. "Chill out, I didn't mean for you to get all defensive on me."

Nate coughs awkwardly, his poor attempt at intervening. "Now ladies, can we just put away the gloves, order some more fries, and get along? That'd be swell."

I say nothing yet my eyes say everything as I take Nate's advice and shut myself up and stuff my face with a few fries instead of spitting out harsh words.

It's amazing how far a rift with a person can grow and tear itself apart. Things in my life just have the tendency to snowball. I think that's some sort of underlying literary theme that'd be written about in an essay for Miss Kwan's class. All of the problems in my life just seem to snowball to the absolute extreme. Extremes. My life seems to have no middle ground. It's all crashing waves and I'm closing my eyes, trying to shield myself from the powerful waves that are about to crash against me. Some days, I just yearn for the simplicity of grades seven and eight when my biggest troubles involved Sean Cameron rather than chemotherapy, found wills, best friends changing and getting abortions, senseless ribbon campaigns, pranks gone awry, guns, blossoming tutoring sessions, and losing my virginity in the backseat of a tacky green car. Maybe growing up is your life getting more complicated and trying to figure out the answers quicker as you go along. I don't know.

"So, um, Emma," Darcy regains her composure and flashes me a fake smile. It's a smile of overworked employees who say they have no problem fixing your order or bringing that back when in reality, they're going to be angrily muttering about it as they scamper off. "Are you going to the talent show next Monday? Manny's going to kick major ass."

"Excuse me," Nate starts. "B is for Band is going to kick huge ass too. We've adapted a song for our instruments and it's going to be a for amazing." He pauses, laughing as his face turns salmon pink. "I was uh, you know, making a funny joke there. Don't mind me."

"Yeah, I am," I reply. I'm not sure if I am. I'm not known for being rock solid these days. It's a new era of flaky and shaky Emma Nelson. It's hard when your foundation just crumbles underneath your feet though. It's even harder when it's your fault. I guess that's what happens when sometimes, your fate is in your own hands.

"Cool."

Awkward silence envelops us like a sweater two sizes too big, wooly and itchy. Nate sucks his iced tea dry and then sucks at it again, trying to fool us into the fact that he's trying to block out the awkward silence between myself and Darcy. Darcy and I are countries that have something in common but have nothing to talk about when the UN meets up. In fact, it's what we have in common that keeps us apart and has us staring from opposite sides of the fence directly at each other. Maybe that's worse than outright hate for one another. Who knows.

"Okay, I think this iced tea is…getting to me, so I'll be back," Nate informs us, ever the tactful one, as his chair screeches and he retreats to the rest room. "Play nice, girls."

Darcy looks down at her plate, not knowing how to associate with a girl she most likely deems as Manny's freaky little friend. As if she has any room to talk. She's Picasso as she paints designs in her catch up on her plate with her French fries. If people saw us sitting together and assumed we were friends, we'd look like polar opposites. There's Darcy; sitting with smooth and well blow dried hair, fresh faced, and in preppy clothing straight out of the pages of a catalogue that's too expensive for those who are frugal and can actually manage their money. There's me; with my hair swept back and in need of a haircut, wearing half a coat of lip balm, and wearing a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans that were most likely purchased at some sort of half-off mega clearance weekend sale. It's high contrast and highly awkward.

Darcy half smiles, finally looking me in the eyes. "So, one of these days, maybe you should hang out with…me and Mimi, Em. We could give each other manicures and facials. I mean, I even got Liberty to let me give her a manicure. I guess I'm some sort of miracle worker, huh?" A Crest kid smile curls up on her lips as she lets out a laugh.

It's almost insulting. She's taken _my_ best friend that I've known since preschool and she's warped this all into a universe where she's the ultimate insider. She's apparently hanging out and maybe even dating Toby which I didn't even _know_ about up until two weeks ago. But all of a sudden, he's hanging out with good old Darcy and it's like the beginning of the year didn't even happen. It's like Rick never even happened. I kind of wish he hadn't but it's not like I can change that. I've been on the outskirts of my own world for so long. Now all of a sudden, Darcy's inviting me back into my own world that existed long, long before she even came into the picture. It's a little bit too much to bare. I scoff lightly at her.

"First of all, her name is _Manny_, not _Mimi_," I feel my blood boil.

She interrupts, "God, I'm just trying to be nice which is amazing because you always seem to freeze me out whenever I'm around."

My jaw drops. My eyes widen. What is the nerve of this girl?

"Excuse me?"

Darcy folds her hands pristinely on the table after having pushed aside her table. "I mean, I get that everyone's told me how off you've been since…the shooting. It must've been horrible," Darcy starts off, looking me straight in the eyes with that snobbishly annoying little look on her face. It's that look on her face that indicates she's trying to pull off being nice but in all honesty, she has no intentions of being nice at all. "But Manny said that everyone's tried to include you. They've wanted to help you. So really, it's not…their fault that you decided to ignore everyone. I'm sorry that it happened but…people wanted to help you and you didn't let them, that's kind of on you that everyone thinks you're all…weird and off."

I'm beyond insulted. Words are beyond me right now to even articulate the level of anger, hurt, and all around how damn offended I am. I bite my lip so hard to the point where I'm probably drawing blood. In one swift motion, I take my messenger bag off the floor and put it over my shoulder and then I take my iced tea off of the table and promptly walk over to Darcy and let the contents just spill all over her, leaving her a sticky lemon flavored messy.

"EMMA NELSON, YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH," The sopping wet Darcy yells causing everyone in The Dot to stare in our direction. I see Manny in the sea of faces, looking downright confused at Darcy and slightly angry at me. I see Nate coming from the bathroom, looking downright astonished. "What is WRONG with you?"

I look at her and I sneer, "Yeah, well, let's just say I'd rather be that than…covered in iced tea."

With that, I walk away from another person today and don't wait for their reaction but feel proud as I walk away. Almost liberated.

It's not long until I leave the walls of The Dot that Darcy's words sink in and manage to penetrate past. Darcy can't be right, right? This whole thing wasn't my fault. Maybe there is some sort of random chance in life and things that just happen to be out of our hands. Maybe not everything is in our control. I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to have all of my friends to apparently think I'm distant and weird. I didn't choose to have my school be torn apart by tragedy, shooting, and a death. But I did choose that ribbon campaign. I did choose popularity over the right thing. I did choose shoving Rick away. I did choose to make a move on a teacher's assistant. I did choose not to take Manny's phone calls.

One thing I didn't choose? Starting to bawl outside The Dot. Tears sting at my eyes but I can't help it. I'm leaning against the brick wall of the outside of the restaurant. The pain of the past several months just about buried me. Before I'd be wanting to feel something and needing to feel something. There were days and weeks and even months after the shooting where I just felt like I was drifting through life. It was as if nothing ever happened except when I closed my eyes and the nightmares came or when I would hear the whispers in the hallway about me. I was a dead woman walking. Now, I'd give anything to have that feeling back.

The door jingles open and I hear foot steps nearby. "Emma?" A voice startles me. I look up, wiping away the tears as I see Nate looking at me.

"Hi," I choke out. "Um, I'll…give you your MP3 player back right now, if you want."

"No, no, keep it. What happened in there? I go to the bathroom and all of a sudden, Darcy looks like she got the Sissy Spacek in Carrie treatment and you're out here crying." I avoid looking at him, wiping more tears and watching them just fall onto the sidewalk or onto my clothes.

I'm breathing heavily, on the verge of hysterics. I don't want this anymore. I want to change the channel. I want the pain to stop. Fuck liberation. The liberation of giving Matt and Darcy a grand walk off wasn't worth the fog just fading and my world to seem to just completely shatter. I knew the facts before but it never quite _hit_ me. During my sophomore year of high school, I organized a successful anti-violence campaign. It turned one student into a social outcast and he endured torture day in and day out. I told him I only pitied him when he reached out for some form of solace. He brought a gun to school and paralyzed one student. He nearly killed some more before he met his demise. I slipped away from everything and anything in my life. Yet somehow, I'm having an affair with the guy set up to tutor me by my step dad. That's something that a yearbook can't even begin to cover.

"Can you just walk me home," I request quietly.

Nate nods as we walk in silence. The warm orange Spring hues of the sky are beautiful but I'm too lost to appreciate the simple things like that of nature. I've never let myself feel more than I could handle. I let myself feel a glimpse of sadness or a glimpse of guilt. I'm sure right now Nate feels nothing short of awkward as he walks the poor crying girl home from The Dot after she just had a world class meltdown. However, I glance at him. His face is neutral as we walk the winding streets down to my neighborhood.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What's to talk about? Darcy's a bitch and I'm a freak," I admit quietly while looking at my dirty white sneakers.

Nate brushes me off, "Oh come on, you're not a freak."

"Yeah, sure."

"So you're not a member of the spirit squad. So you're not trying to kiss Paige Michalchuk's ass constantly," Nate insists. Please, I had my taste of popularity. It didn't go down well. Nate's just not aware of what goes around him socially. "So what? Who cares about that? If that's what those girls think is normal then well, go and dump iced tea on all of them. To hell with 'em."

I look at him, my face flooded with confusion. It's something I've always wanted to hear from someone who wasn't a parent patting me on the head with a plastic smile and telling me to be myself and that everyone would love me for that and that alone. Yet I feel like it's something I feel I've heard in different words but in a different manner. It's déjà vu. Nate's earnest words should be something that I snuggle up in and take comfort in but I'm not sure. We're barely even friends.

"They all think I'm a freak," I admit as I finagle with my messenger bag strap. "My own _friends_. Manny and Darcy have each other. Liberty and JT have each other. Toby even seems to have…moved on from everything that happened this year. He's like, Darcy's boyfriend in training." Where am I know? I'm still with the teacher's assistant on the down low.

"People…deal with things differently. Well, that or Toby's got a great psychiatrist with a sweet pill hook up," Nate shrugs with his attempt of a joke rolling off his shoulders as we arrive at my porch.

"Hey, c'mon, dry the tears." He steps closer to me and dries off the tears that fell from my eyes. "No use in crying over spilled iced tea." He pauses. "Too soon?"

Still, I can't help but laugh.

Nate being so close to me is something I'm not sure how to feel about. I know I don't like him as more than a friendly acquaintance. Still, he steps a little bit closer to me and before I finally realize it, his lips are pressed slowly against mine. My body's paralyzed. I'm not sure how to react. Guys taking random interest in me has never been something I've ever experienced. Usually, that's for Manny with her strategic and skin baring wardrobe. The kiss with Nate is…something I haven't felt in a while. It's innocence. It's a kiss from someone that you feel like has waited for that special moment to actually make a move and kiss you. It's not something forbidden. It's not something to be ashamed of yet secretly enjoy for some twisted reason. It's some shred of normalcy.

Yet I can't help but feel guilty over it. I can't help but think of Matt. I can't help but think of those stupid moments in his apartment with his horribly dry sense of humor and how sometimes, I feel we're both eerily similar. I think of how emotional he gets when it comes to his sister. I think of how he has something of mine and I chose to gave it to him. I think of why he even seemed to care this afternoon that I was talking with Nate at yearbook.

I pull away from him, looking him in the eye. "I can't do this, I'm sorry. I just…I can't, okay," I admit. I back away, heading towards my door. Here I am, walking away from a third person today but this time, there's no feeling of liberation or pride.

Confusion mounts for Nate as he stares at me, in the awkward glory of the moment after our kiss. I'm not letting him in the secrets as to why. I can't let anyone in on that.

"…You still have my iPod!"

With that, I close the door on Nate as a sick feeling in my stomach settles in. So much for normalcy and going back to that. I've closed the door on that forever.


End file.
